“That feels good,” I tell her.
“I’m glad you like it.” She smiles slightly and strokes my cheek with her free hand.
“Get some rest,” she says. “You look tired.”
I start to respond, but I close my eyes instead. Her shoulder is more comfortable than the pillow, and her scent lulls me into a dreamless sleep.
*****
For the first time, I wake before Alina.
Surprisingly, I don’t wake with thoughts of some horrific dream in the forefront of my mind. I’m not covered in sweat or breathing hard, and I actually feel rested. I take several deep breaths and open my eyes.
Alina is coiled around me, or me around her—it’s hard to tell the difference. Our legs are intertwined, and my arm is wrapped around her waist and hers around my neck. We’re sharing a single pillow though there are four on the king-sized bed, and the blankets are pulled up around us both.
I have to take a piss, but I’m too warm and comfortable to seriously consider stepping out onto the hardwood floors. Instead, I look at Alina. Her face is relaxed in sleep, and her chest rises and falls in a gentle rhythm. Her thick, dark eyelashes are long enough to be resting against her cheek. Softly, I run my fingers over the arch of her eyebrow, then down her cheek. Her skin is soft, and there’s still a hint of lavender on it.
It occurs to me that I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know where she’s from or why she happened to end up in such a profession. I know she shares an apartment somewhere with Loretta, but I don’t know where she actually lives.
I remember Bridgett’s apartment. It was in a dump of a building in one of the worst sections of town. Considering what I pay for a night, I would think most whores live in better conditions than that, but I don’t really know.
How much of a cut does the pimp take anyway?
Rinaldo has his hands in multiple prostitution rings, but it isn’t an area of the business where my services are needed. When there’s an issue, the pimps typically deal with it on their own. I’ve never paid any attention to it.
Maybe I’d check into her pimp. Considering what area I find her in, her pimp is probably one of Rinaldo’s. It’s also possible he’s independent. A lot of Greco’s people went that route when he was run out of town. Rinaldo didn’t have a problem with it. There are enough johns to go around, so territory isn’t commonly in dispute.
My bladder feels like it’s going to burst, so I give up and touch my feet to the cold floor. Wishing I had gotten around to buying some area rugs, I creep off to the bathroom. When I return, Alina’s eyes are open, and she’s arching her back and stretching her arms above her head, giving me a pretty nice view of her tits and stomach.
“Good morning,” she says with a smile. “How did you sleep?”
“Pretty well, thanks. You?”
“Very well.” She sits up and adjusts the sheets over her legs. “Your bed is great, very comfortable. I love the pillows, too. They’re so soft!”
“Yeah, it’s one of the few things I actually pay attention to,” I tell her. “Military bedding sucks ass. I go all out with the stuff now.”
“Oh! You were in the military? What branch?”
Her tone isn’t right. It’s a little high for what should be a casual question, and the inflection at the end falls instead of rises. I have no doubt that she already knows the answer to her question, but I can’t think of why she would pretend not to know.
Regardless, I shouldn’t have brought it up, but it’s too late now. Answering her will lead to more questions, and I’m feeling too good to delve into all that shit. However, if I refuse to answer, she’s going to wonder why I’m avoiding the topic and ask again at another time. Deflection is my best ally.
“Marines,” I say bluntly. “What sounds good for breakfast?”
“I’m famished,” Alina says. “I’d be up for anything.”
“Waffles?”
“That sounds wonderful!”
I exit quickly and dig the waffle iron out of the back of a cabinet. It came with the apartment, and I hadn’t used it before, but I remembered using a waffle iron a lot when I was a kid living in a convent with a bunch of other unadoptable orphans.
I mix up some batter and begin pouring it onto the heated iron. Though I don’t have a lot of fond memories of my early years, I feel a little nostalgic. It’s probably just the good night’s sleep preceded by good sex, but I’ll take it.
Alina sits at the table and watches me.
“Can I ask you something, Evan?”
“You can ask,” I reply. I’m guarded, to say the least. If she wants a bunch of information regarding my military career, I’m just not prepared to go there. If she decides to ask about my current career, that would be even worse.
“It’s an observation more than a question, I suppose.” Her words don’t make me any less wary, but I nod at her to continue anyway. “You seem like you want a girlfriend.”
I laugh loudly. Opening the waffle iron, I dislodge the first waffle and set it on an empty plate.
“Hardly. I’ve been there and done that. Way too much trouble.”
“Trouble, as in you would have to make breakfast for her in the morning?”
“This”—I point a spatula at the waffle iron—“is not trouble. This is what I want for breakfast. Making two of them isn’t any harder than making one, and I don’t have to cut the recipe in half.”
“So what kind of trouble are you avoiding?”
I glance at her sideways. I’m tempted not to answer at all and let my silence speak for itself, but I have the feeling that won’t work. It’s better to let her know exactly how I feel about it.
“The kind where the chick asks a lot of questions,” I finally reply.
I pour the remaining batter and close the lid. The only sound in the kitchen is the sizzling noise from the waffle iron as some of the batter leaks out the side. When the waffle is done, I place it on a second plate and bring both to the table.
“Syrup okay?” I ask. “I have strawberries if you like.”
“Syrup is perfect.” Alina is quiet again.
Admittedly, I’m glad. I probably shouldn’t be, but I am. It’s yet another reason an actual girlfriend is problematic—she’ll get all pissed when you tell her to shut up. Alina seems pretty good at taking a hint, and she doesn’t ask any more questions.
Once breakfast is done, I take her back to her corner and drop her off. No “goodbyes,” no “see ya laters,” not even a “thanks for the fuck.”
I just drive away.
The temperature is a little warmer than usual, and I decide to drive over to the lake and walk along the shore. Before Odin died, I would take him here to run around in the sand and chase seagulls. I again wonder if I should consider getting another dog but quickly dismiss the idea. I don’t need the added responsibility, and having anything around that I care about has always proven itself to be a risk.
Best not to have any ties.
I light a cigarette and draw the smoke into my lungs as I walk along the grassy bank near the sand. It’s a little colder here with the wind coming off the lake. It clears my head and brings me back to Alina and her observations.
Yeah, girlfriends are nice to have around as far as getting a decent night’s sleep and not having to go pick them up on a corner while wondering how many other guys they’ve fucked in the last twenty-four hours, but they want to know things about you. They would want to know about your childhood, why you were discharged from the Marines, and why you have nightmares. They’d want to ask about your family, and then they would give you that pitiful look when you’d tell them your only living family is a brother you nearly killed, and he doesn’t even know you’re related.
They would want to know what you do for a living and why you always pay for everything in cash. They would want to know where you were last night. They would want to know why you have blood all over your clothes when you come home.
Ultimately, they would want
to know why you’re so fucked up. In the end, that knowledge would get them killed.
Bridgett had wanted to know all of that, and I told her a lot of it. She paid the ultimate price for getting too wrapped up in my life. Lia wanted to know as well, and I’d told her more than I had ever told anyone else. I still didn’t tell her all of it, but she knew enough to get the fuck out while she still could.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. I know she returned to Arizona to be with her mother, but has she moved on from there? Has she gone back to her ex-boyfriend, assuming an alcoholic is still better than me? Maybe I should have Jonathan check it out.
I toss the cigarette butt into the sand and light up another. The last thing I want to do is to think about Lia. Looking into her current whereabouts is opening a door I plan to keep very tightly locked.
No more thinking about her.
I stare out at the water as the sun reaches its peak. It’s still not that warm, but it’s quiet and peaceful. The waves wash up on the shore in a rhythmic, lulling cadence. For the first time in my life, I try using one of those guided meditations the doctors were always encouraging me to use when I had flashbacks of being in a pit, surrounded by enemies, sand, and pain. I collect my memories of Lia, place them in an imaginary hot air balloon, and send them off over the water.
Turning away from the lake, I feel empty inside.
I think I prefer it that way.
Chapter 10—Compromised Position
I don’t like this plan—any of it.
We’re in the exact same pickup spot where we were two weeks ago. Somehow, Rinaldo has it in his head that it’s a safe enough place for a drop even though I’ve used all the viable locations for sniping in the past. Beni and Paulie keep reassuring Rinaldo the location is sound, but I’m beginning to think Beni is scheming, and Paulie is just stupid.
We’re on the far west side of town, out in the burbs. There isn’t much of anything in the area except for a couple of trade schools, a small hospital, and an old cemetery. The expressway isn’t too far, which does make the location ideal.
Yet there’s something in the back of my head telling me everything about this is wrong. I had the same feeling in this morning’s meeting, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it.
“This spot is compromised,” I say for the thousandth time.
“We’ve been over this,” Rinaldo says, as if I need the reminder.
“This is still a valid pickup point,” Beni pipes in. “No security cameras on the buildings around us, cops don’t patrol this area, and there’s room for both trucks.”
“The only ones who know about this spot are Marcello’s people,” Paulie says. “I don’t think there’s much chance of them showing up.”
Apparently, Paulie thinks his own remark is hilarious. I glare at him, and for a brief second contemplate pulling out my gun to see how funny he thinks that is.
Rinaldo is irritable today, to say the least. I don’t wonder why but watch him closely. He barks out a few more orders and then sends everyone to their positions, asking me to stay behind. Beni and Paulie walk away, seeking out Becca and her lists. Rinaldo and I stay behind, and he places his hand on my shoulder.
“Since you haven’t mentioned it, I assume you still haven’t seen Felisa?”
“No, sir.” I look down at my gun, pretending to check the chamber.
“I’m worried, Evan.”
“What about, sir?”
“She still hasn’t answered her phone. I thought it was just my phone acting up, but she’s not at her apartment either. The doorman said he hadn’t seen her since the day before yesterday. I think…I think something has happened to her.”
“Who would go after Felisa?” I tilt my head and look at him quizzically. “I mean, who would have it in for the mob shrink? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“As soon as we’re done here, I want you looking for her. If this shipment wasn’t so crucial, I would have sent you off this morning.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Get with Jonathan. He’s got the app you need, or whatever you call it.”
“App?”
“To track her.”
This time, my quizzical look is a genuine one. Rinaldo uses one hand to rub at the center of his back, grimacing slightly. He twists around a little to stretch it.
“I have her chipped. I have all my family chipped. Don’t you dare tell Lele, or she’d have my balls.”
“A GPS chip?” I can’t contain my surprise.
“In her neck, yes.”
Our conversation is cut short as Beni comes up and starts laying out the details of the shipment we’re about to receive. He points up to one of the buildings that I’m supposed to scout.
“Bad spot,” I say. “I can’t see the whole area from there. I’ll be over on the east building.”
Beni glares at me and tries to argue.
“Coverage is better from there,” Paulie says. “I’m with Evan.”
I look over at him, and he grins. If he’s trying to make friends, it’s not working. I don’t need his help; I have no intention of being on the building Beni indicated. The fact that he is trying to dictate my movements is suspicious enough.
“I’m directing this show,” Beni says. “If you don’t like it—”
“I’ll be where I fucking want to be!” I stand up straighter and stare Beni in the eyes. “If you had any fucking sense, we wouldn’t be here at all!”
“Relax!” Rinaldo places his hand on my shoulder again. “We don’t have time for this.”
I shrug him off and continue to stare at a seething Beni. Rinaldo shoos Beni and Paulie away and then turns back to me.
“You’re being paranoid, son,” Rinaldo says under his breath, but I’m not convinced. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“I’m fine.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Rinaldo is losing patience with me.
“I slept fine, sir,” I tell him. Then I look at him with a wry smile. “Even got laid, if you’re interested.”
Rinaldo laughs and slaps me on the back.
“We’re about ready,” Beni says as he walks back over to us, ignoring me completely. “Everyone, get into position.”
I head up the side of the building to the east, glancing at Beni to see if he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t. With my duffel over my shoulder, I get into position. It doesn’t take long to set up. The wind is unusually calm, which reassures me. Where I am now has more cover than the other sniping spots around the parking lot, which is why I decided to set up here, but I still don’t like the whole idea.
Through the Barrett’s scope, I survey the area. We’re still a half hour away from the truck’s arrival time, and there’s nothing of note in my sights. I focus on the group for a moment and see Rinaldo talking with Becca. She’s got her spreadsheets on a clipboard, and she’s pointing out some details.
I’m still annoyed. More often than not, Rinaldo listens to what I have to say and takes my advice. Maybe it’s because of my long absence, but he seems to trust the opinions of others over mine these days. I’m obviously not Italian, but sometimes Rinaldo listens to family too much. They don’t always know what they’re talking about.
At all.
I look around again, trying to determine the weakest entry point to the area. The main drive is easy to see, and no one will try to sneak in that way. There are a lot of trees surrounding the east side, which could be an issue, but there’s no road or even a dirt path in that direction. On the opposite side, there’s a drive coming around the back of the building.
“Watch the back drive,” I say through the radio.
“Will do.” That’s what Paulie says, but he still has his eyes on the main road.
“Fucking moron,” I mumble before activating the radio. “The back drive is behind you, asshole.”
Paulie glances up in my direction with a glare. He probably thinks I can’t see him when he flips his fingers unde
r his chin. I flex my finger around the Barrett’s trigger but don’t actually pull back on it. As I watch, he walks over to the edge of the building where he would have a clear view. His eyes are still on the main drive, though.
The rumble of a diesel engine pulls my thoughts from the useless so-called security specialist. I turn the scope to watch the truck roll up the drive and around the main building to the back next to the empty truck. From the passenger side, a tall, dark-haired man drops out of the truck and approaches Rinaldo.
I can’t hear their words, but their posture is friendly enough. They speak for a few minutes until Becca brings over her tablet and starts going over the details of the shipment. Everyone’s nodding, so the shipment must be in order.
So far, so good.
I check the perimeter again and then out along the line of trees near the preserve. A slight breeze has picked up, and the dense, rustling leaves make it difficult to spot any human movement. I adjust the scope, watch carefully, but see nothing.
I swivel the rifle around and look out toward the cemetery. It’s just across a small river from our location, and I see a couple of recreational boats out on the water. I have to wonder who in their right mind is out on a boat this time of year and narrow my scope in on the people.
They’re all just sitting there, looking around. Not drinking a beer, not fishing, and not talking as far as I can tell.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“Paulie, send a couple guys east to the tree line and the river. There’s something going on over there.”
“Got it.” The radio clicks off, and I watch Paulie direct some of the crew in the direction I indicated. They move at a good pace, guns drawn. I watch them approach the river just as one of the boats hits land.
I’m not at all surprised when shots ring out.
I focus and aim. There are four of them in the first boat and five in the second, which has yet to reach the shore. My first shot is at the guy in the back of the second boat—the one with his hand on the outboard motor’s tiller. He falls backwards into the water as the others duck below the boat’s side.