Chapter 3
Tick-tick-tick…
The silence of the room is deafening except for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
You drum your fingers on the conference room table of Homeland Security headquarters. Thankfully, there are no handcuffs on your wrists, but you’re hyperaware that it’d been a very near thing. Placing your clenched fists underneath your chin, you slowly roll your neck from side to side, trying to get a stubborn kink out.
And that’s the exact moment that the door opened abruptly, admitting a pretty government agent woman, who, while walking to the other side, slaps down a folder in front of you.
The contents spill haphazardly onto the table.
It’s a gruesome sight. Unintentionally, although you really, really don’t want to, your gaze flicks to the scattered pictures, categorizing the grotesque images, burning the imagery into your retinas, before you glanced away.
“He played you.” Agent Dinah Madani tells you simply, her tone is succinct and to the point, no holds barred. “He left you behind, potentially the country as we speak, holding the bag and plans to let you take the fall for his screw ups.”
You checked out your nails as she rambled, idly coming to the conclusion that you’re overdue for a mani-pedi. But if you’re going to get that little work done, then you might as well go that extra mile and get the whole package. A wax, maybe, definitely a hot oil massage and your toes soaked, scrubbed, and painted.
“Truthfully, I didn’t fully understand how you were connected to Russo in the beginning. So, I had to dig a little deeper.”
Unbidden, a small smile pulled your lips upwards at the corners. Madani noticed. Letting the other folder she was perusing fall closed, she studied you across the table. Her intent gaze like lasers against your skin.
“…Something funny to you, [Last Name]?”
You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m just wondering how foolish you must’ve felt when you realized that Billy was playing you.” You minutely tilt your head to the side, smile becoming a smirk as Madani’s expression struggled to remain impassive. “Of course, you don’t have to admit it, but Billy’s conquests…they all have a certain… look.”
There’s silence for a moment.
“Woman to woman?” You raised an eyebrow and nodded your head, wordlessly telling her to continue. “I can admit to feeling like an idiot. However, it’s great motivation to catch this asshole.” Madani admitted, maintaining eye contact with you. “Now. Please. Help me.”
“That’s all you had to do, say the magic words.” You winked and collected the scattered pictures, depositing them neatly back into the folder. “Let’s get down to business then, shall we?”
Several hours later, you walked out of the Homeland Security HQ.
You stretch your hands above your head, eyes closed momentarily as you enjoy the last rays of the dying sun as it disappears beneath the clouds. As your feet touch the asphalt again after the minute stretch, you smile as you begin to hustle down the stone stairs.
“Uncle Robert!”
On the last step, that’s when you take a small hop and then throw your arms around his waist in a hug. Grinning ear to ear as you enjoy the rare sound of his laughter, then he’s hugging you back; his hold as always, gentle.
“I didn’t expect to see you today.” You admit quietly. Pulling back slightly to give him a quick once-over, mildly concerned. “Is everything okay with you…?”
He reaches out as if to pat the crown of your head. Pauses mid-motion and lowers his hand back to his side. “No special reason for a visit to my niece.” Jerking a thumb at his car, he continues onto say. “I was thinking we could grab takeout dinner together.”
You shrug and then nodded with a slight smile. “I’m all for it.”
Because he’s a gentleman, Uncle Robert holds the passenger side door open for you. You clamber inside his car and buckle up, fiddling with the radio station as he goes to the opposite side of the car, climbing into the driver’s side and buckling up, turning the key in the ignition, etc.
He doesn’t make any complaints as you change the station to the jazz station. His fingers tap out a beat on the steering wheel at the next red light after several minutes have passed, the singer crooning something about not wanting to be alone tonight, and you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eye, but ultimately decide not to say anything… yet.
“Saw your boy on the news.” Uncle Robert remarks casually as the light turns green. “The weird one that always used to follow you around. The, uh, military kid. Billy Russo.” He adds on, a little unnecessarily.
“He’s not my boy.” It’s habit to make this statement.
“Couldn’t get ahold of you earlier.” He makes a left turn, going down the street to the lesser known districts, these places are renowned for selling better quality food at a decent rate, unlike the popular tourist trap attractions.
“I lost my phone. You know me. Butterfingers. I’ll call the company and have it turned off ASAP.” You reply flippantly. “This the place? It looks pretty decent from the outside.” A neon sign that says Ma & Pa’s Soul Food blazes brightly, the interior, what little you could see, is very comfortable and homey looking.
You go to get out the car, but the locks engage. “What the hell, Uncle Robert?” You turn and give the man your best annoyed stare. Unfortunately, he’s immune to your irritation and any other forms of sass.
“I found your phone, [Your Name].”
A brow raised. “Then problem solved…?” If not a little creepy because it’d been obviously bugged. “Thank you so much for finding my phone.” Again, you tried the door, but it remained locked. “Uncle Robert. Please. This is getting uncomfortable.”
His stare did not once waver from you. “Did you go see him? The Bowery King.”
You huffed and crossed your arms across your chest, leaning your head against the windowpane. “…That was the intent. Agent Madani and her little squad honed in on me while I was feeding the homeless and hungry under the bridge.”
You glance at him.
“But you already know that since you put a tracker in my phone.”
“That’s not something new.” Uncle Robert countered, tone hard and resolute. “You make a terrible habit of going to places and being where you shouldn’t be.”
You laughed. “I’m not a little kid anymore. You can’t keep me away from him.” Now that you’ve caught your wind, you refuse to be silenced again. “He’s not the Boogeyman, Uncle Robert, he’s my biological father.”
“And quite the father he turned out to be. Not only managing to get your mother killed, and almost you too, by the way, but he gave up all parental rights and let you go into foster care–”
You couldn’t stand to hear anymore. “Let me the fuck outta this car!”
The locks disengaged.
Quickly, you pushed opened the door, hard.
Then you scrambled out of the vehicle. “Ain’t nobody denyin’ he was a shit father, or even that he wasn’t a father at all. However, that title doesn’t go to you, either. You let me rot in foster care too until you magically remembered that you even had a sister who had a child.” Your eyes are stinging, the need to cry strong, but thankfully, your face remains tears-free. “The streets are my father, pain has been my teacher. I raised my godsdamned self! And I say I did pretty damn well!” With your piece said, you slammed the door shut and started speed walking back the way you came.
Knowing your uncle as well as you did, you had less than two minutes before he tried to put the car in reverse and get you back in the car with some fake ass (patronizing) apology. So you put on an extra burst of speed until you weren’t just speed walking but full out running. The universe must’ve felt your desperation to get away from that trainwreck of a conversation because a yellow taxi cab is parked on the side street. You hustle those last few feet of distance, yelling at the driver to wait, before clambering inside, spitting off the directions for home.
The driver, probably taking note of your urgency, doesn’t hesitate to take off quickly. Leaving your Uncle Robert’s car in the dust. You rest your head against the seat for several minutes, eyes closed. Then once you managed to regulate your breathing and steady yourself fully, you sat up straight. Reaching into your pants pockets, searching, searching, and then pulled out a solid gold coin.
“Change of plans. Take me to the Continental, please.”
“Of course, Miss [Last Name].” Smoothly, without hesitation, the taxi driver switches lanes, accepting the coin at the next red light.
That bit of business taken care of, you relax again in the back seat, staring out the window.
Almost 48 hours ago
“You can’t stay here indefinitely.” You told Billy quite clearly. “He’s gone for now, but no doubt he’s lurking around in the area somewhere and I don’t need him trying to tear up this apartment to get to you.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much for your support and friendship. It’s… You’re a real pal.” Billy replied, sarcasm thick in his tone, but hurt clear and visible in his gaze. You shuffle in place, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “I would’ve been gone yesterday, but you decided to keep me here.”
“Don’t put this on me.” You held up a finger. “None of it, Billy. I never asked for your protection.” Unable to keep looking at him, you retreat to the kitchen. Opening a couple cabinets, you pull out a glass for yourself, and then go to the fridge, reaching in and snagging a bottle of rum. The fridge door closes and you’re unsurprised to see that Billy is in your space again.
“You don’t need to ask for my protection because it’s always been a given. I’ve always thought that even if I didn’t have anyone else, I would have you.” Ignoring your halfhearted protests, he plucked the glass and alcohol from your grip, pouring a generous amount. “Unless that’s changed.” He pushed the glass in your direction, as if to give it to you, and yet, before you could accept the glass, he lifted it to his lips and took a hefty swallow.
Hitting him in the stomach, you pry the glass from his hand. “Jerk! Stop being so nasty.” You ignore his taunting, smug look and finish off the dregs, selfishly enjoying how his eyes widened in surprise…and something else. You hold your glass out again and wordlessly, he fills the glass to the brim almost. “…You’re my best friend, Billy, and you know that. However, you also know that I’m not some weak, delicate maiden like all those protagonists of a Harlequin novel. Never have been, never will be.”
“I know. I know…I just…I didn’t want you to have to go back to that lifestyle, especially after you worked so hard to be free of it.” He set the rum bottle on the counter. “You have a good life now and I…I fucked it all up by being selfish and deciding to come here. I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. ”You might not believe me, but I mean it. I am really really sorry.” Shoulders hunching, almost caving in on himself, Billy turned his face away from you.
You raise the glass of rum to your lips, watching him. After a moment or so, you decide to set it down on the other counter. “It’s fine. I’ve always been prepared for this moment.” Clearly that’s the wrong thing to say, as he seemed to be trying to get even smaller, which is quite a feat for such a tall guy. Sighing, you walk the short distance to his side. “Let me rephrase that: because of who I am, my own kin, and what I know, I’ve always prepared for the possibility that someone would come knocking on my door to either kidnap, torture or kill me. So while Frank was a shock…while…everything is a shock…. It’s fairly standard.”
Billy doesn’t say anything.
Reaching out carefully, you cup the nape of his neck. Much to your surprise, a lot of tension seeped out of him. “I’m going to say this again for the second time today, and pay attention this time, will you? You’re my best friend, Billy. That means you’re as good as family and I…” Momentarily, you hesitate. “I love you. I’m in love with you. So, please, stop crying.” You felt and sound helpless as you utter the last couple words.
“I’m not… Not crying…” Billy’s voice is hoarse and it’s clear that he’s obviously trying to choke off more tears, as it is, he still won’t face you. But that’s okay, because you already know the truth.
“C’mon Billy, don’t leave me hanging,” You playfully wheedle and tease, using your thumb to rub soothing circles, something to further calm him down. “Even without Frank deciding to just throw my feelings out there, like a straight up jackass might I add, because wow, was he raised in a barn? I said it of my own free will. No one’s making me. I’m in love with you. I love you. Your response is…?”
Finally, Billy turns to face you. He’s bright red from his crying jag and mildly embarrassed period, his eyelashes are wet and slightly clumped with the remnants of tears. “I love you too, doofus.” You squawk in mock offense. “I’ve always been in love with you, even as kids. It’s not my fault you’re only just now taking me seriously.”
You don’t say anything, just hum lightly, reaching up to cup his cheek. His eyes slide shut, and he leans into your touch. Welcoming it. You applied the slightest pressure to the nape of his neck and without hesitation or second guessing, he understood what you wanted and leaned in. You tilt your chin and oh. Oh, that’s all you can think as your lips meet in the sweetest of kisses. Suddenly, it becomes clear to you exactly what you’ve been missing out on all these years as a feeling of rightness fills your entire being.
“[Your Name]…”
Opening your eyes at the sound of your name, wondering when you closed them, you gaze into Billy’s eyes. There’s questions on the tip of his tongue, the dreaded, ‘Are you sure…?’ no doubt, but you don’t want to hear it. Selfish, you’ve always been selfish with him, you admit if only to yourself, as you cup his cheeks and lean in for another kiss, Billy automatically going along with what you want. You fingers splay against the nape of his neck, right hand pressed against his chest, feeling his heart as it beat beneath your palm. Proof that he’s alive. Precious. “I’ll protect you.” You murmur a hair’s breadth from his lips once the two of y’all break apart for air. “I promise, Billy…”
He chuckled and it sounded both weary and amused. “You sure know how to make a guy feel some type of way.” He pecked your lips once more, unable and unwilling to deprive himself of a taste of you. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“We’ll protect each other like we always have.” You decide to compromise. Slowly, both your hands come down to his chest and press against him. Without too much fuss, and only mild whining, he took a step or two back out of your space. Weirdly enough, you feel bereft of his presence though he’s quite literally in front of you. “I know some people. I’ll make some discreet calls and you’ll be out of the country before anyone can do anything about it.”
Billy hesitates for several seconds. “…Even Frankie?”
“Frank’s an impressive killer but there have always been better.” You shrug. “He won’t get within spitting distance of you. And before you make a smart ass remark about sniper shots, or car bombs, or more flashy ways of killing a person, again, you will be fine.” After half of a second, he nods again, swallowing his doubts and worries. “Trust me.”
He reached out and took your hand in his. “Always.” There’s a beat of silence. “…What will it cost you to do this for me?”
“It doesn’t matter.” You wave the matter away with your free hand. “Do me a favor and try to get that door fixed better than it is?” You immediately give him a task to do in order to distract him. After Frank had rudely kicked in the door, it’d been off the hinges and you’d made Billy shove a sofa in front of the door as some sort of flimsy protection.
“Alright then.” Billy knew what you were doing but he also knew when to cut his losses and shut up. “We’ll be talking about this later.”
You made a noncommittal sound in your throat.
As he went about fixing the door, you retreated to your room again. Going to the very back of your closet. Walking around, you tap your foot continuously until you finally come across a couple hollow floorboards. Kneeling down, you carefully lifted those floorboards up, pulling out a well worn briefcase, straps and even a hefty combination lock acting as a deterrent for anyone nosy. You undo the strap first and then twist the knob of the combination lock.
90-65-23.
There’s a quiet click and the lock pops open.
You pull it off and set it to the side. Carefully, you open the briefcase. Your fingers hover for a moment as you examine the contents. Nothing is out of place, you know it, and yet, still you linger, making absolutely sure that everything is the way that it should be. (It is). Swallowing thickly, you inhale, hold that breath for several seconds, then let it out through your lungs. Lifting that compartment, there’s absolutely no sound as it seamlessly opens up and makes way for another built in compartment and this time, there’s nothing there but a few well bound books and scrolls as well as several rows of solid gold coins and a burner phone, along with it’s charger.
You power up the phone and plug the charger into the wall near the computer desk. Wiping your sweaty palm on your jean clad thigh, you type in a message. Several minutes go by and then a number pops up, as well as a time. Unplugging the charger, you place everything back in the appropriate place and power off the phone. Snagging more than half a row of gold coins. You then carefully replace everything back the way it’d been hidden in the first place.
You step out of the closet and close it quietly. You turn around and there’s Billy standing in the doorway, just watching you quietly. Any other time, you’d chastise him and call him creepy. Wait. “Don’t be a creep. Make some noise.” You halfheartedly complain.
“I’m making chili if you’re hungry. The door’s kind of a bust.” Billy smiled wanly.
The distance between the two of y’all is suddenly unbearable. You cross the distance and take his hand after giving him a peck on the chin. “Let’s watch some movies together. Child’s Play?”
His smile became a little more confident. “Just don’t freak out at the predictable jump scare moments.”
“Boy, bye.”
The two of you end up in the living room again. Watching the scary movie together and complaining at the acting, and generally being rowdy. Of course, it’s not just two friends hanging out today, no this weird day gets even more strange, in a good way, kinda, as y’all are now cozying up to each other and you take his hand in yours, clenching it tight as Chucky makes his signature scream that freaks you out. Every. Single. Time. And ignore his chuckles as he holds you tighter.
It feels good. Right. Domestic.
Soon enough, you hear a firm knock on the door and disentangle yourself from his embrace reluctantly. Looking out the peep hole, you see that it’s two handsome black men in suits. You lean back and close your eyes for a moment. ‘I’ve been doing that a lot today.’ You acknowledge wryly. “Billy…”
Something in your tone of voice must’ve alerted him because he gives you this sad, sad smile. And oh God, this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, it’s not. “Don’t give me that look, [Your Name]. I’m not worth getting upset over.”
“Shut up.” Neither of you acknowledge the crack in your voice. “You don’t get to decide what I consider is worth something. And Billy? You are. Do you hear me? You are.”
His eyes go large and liquid.
And he’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re real.
You’ll never know what he might’ve said next because there’s another firm knock delivered to the door and you’re just grateful they haven’t decided to get impatient and kick it down, again. Not that it would’ve ended well for them. The moment has passed and after getting a steady nod from him, you open your destroyed door with as much dignity as you can manage.
Luckily neither man says anything about it. One of them, the leader you presume, merely beckons with one hand. You reach into your pocket and pull out a solid gold coin, pressing it firmly into his palm. “Not a scratch on him.”
“Of course.”
The invitation to kill anyone who decides to try their luck is unspoken but understood.
Billy’s fingers ghost along yours fleetingly as he walks past you, outside the door, beyond the threshold where it isn’t safe.
Frank could be anywhere. The man is tenacious, ferocious and annoying with his inability to just die.
Panic slams into you but you swallow it down with difficulty, and instead of telling them that you changed your mind like an absolute idiot, you keep yourself standing there, in your apartment. Although you can’t help it anymore. After a minute or two, you follow behind them, you watch as they load him into a car and drive off. You wait until they’re only a speck in the distance before you can even remotely relax.
You force yourself to return to your apartment and clean up. Force yourself to put the remaining chili into a large container, grab some paper plates and plastic silverware, and then you go about letting your landlord know about your door as you hustle down the stairs, again, with the food, hailing a taxi. You hand the driver a single gold coin and he doesn’t bat an eye as he drives you to the rougher parts of the city, where the ratio of homeless people is quite simply, staggering.
The driver asks if you want him to stick around and doesn’t put up a fuss when you tell him no. Soon enough, it’s just you, carrying that container of chili, walking past the odd homeless person. Most are asleep. Some are drunk. All of them ignore you.
Until they don’t.
“And what is the little princess doing today?” “Slumming it up, obviously.” “Damn, she’s too fucking cocky. I hate it.”
The scent is almost overpowering. All those unwashed bodies, crowding you in. It’s a scare tactic though and you know it. They know it too. Still, you don’t move an inch as one person is bold enough to reach in your pocket and take your cellphone. A muscle pops in your jaw but stubbornly, you keep silent.
“I brought food.”
Just like that, they disperse, someone liberating you of the container without issue, another person snatches the plastic silverware and plates. You run your hands over your thighs unconsciously, resisting the urge to stick them in your pockets entirely.
There’s only one person left and he’s watching you with a shrewd, calculating expression. You wait for a beat but after a minute of mutual staring like idiots, you walk over to him. “Take me to him.”
“Lose the tail first.”
What?
You don’t get more than a second to ponder what the hell he’s talking about before the sound of police sirens blare and you hear a woman on an air horn calling your name. People are scrambling and running away and every instinct in you wants to obey that urge, that primal desire to flee, because never, ever, not once has the siren of a police car been a sign of safety for you, but you remain rooted to the spot and raise your hands high above your head seconds before you’re tackled.
Silently, you vow that an asshole is getting sued.