Bottom Feeder Page 26

  “The investigation has stopped.”

  “Stopped?” My voice rises. “What the hell do you mean ‘stopped’? You know what, I don’t want to know. Pretend I never asked about it.” I will investigate and handle it myself.

  I stand to leave. “Is there anything you can tell me about my real father? His name?”

  Agent Mace is quiet. Finally, without looking at me, he replies, “I should never have sent you into Cordell’s warehouse. This is the last time we will ever meet, Maddy. I made a mistake getting you involved to this degree. ”

  “It’s too late for what-ifs and regrets, Suit. We learn from mistakes, we change our underwear, we move forward.”

  I walk toward the door that exits into the alley.

  “Kevin,” his voice says quietly from behind. “Kevin Underwood.”

  Jackson

  The sound of five locks clicking open barely jostled my sleep. I fully open my eyes when water begins flowing from a faucet in the bathroom.

  I kick Beraz, who is asleep on the couch. “Maddy’s here.” I bury my head in one of the fluffy pillows I borrowed from her bed. It smells like her. Coconut, the beach, and something else that reminds me of home.

  While Beraz is in the shower, Maddy and I talk. The conversation is awkward at first. She talks about school, New York City, and missing Georgia. I surprise myself when I ask how Dixon likes Paris. The discussion never leads to what happened in Fayetteville.

  “Jackson,” she says, “Are we good?”

  “More than good.” The smile I thought I’d never see again spreads across her face. To my surprise, she jumps off the tall bistro chair and wraps her arms around my neck.

  I don’t hesitate to return the hug.

  Since this is my first trip to New York, we do the tourist thing and take a Gray Line around the Uptown Loop. Instead of sightseeing at all the stops, we decide to walk around Central Park. A chilly drizzle begins to fall as we step off the bus.

  Maddy, wearing a vintage Lynryd Skynyrd tee and jeans that fit just right, walks with her arm interlocked with Beraz’s. He strolls along with an air of smugness that makes me cringe.

  Jealousy is an ugly thing, ladies and gentlemen. An ugly, ugly thing.

  Maybe it’s the tourist in me, but the park seems out of place with the rest of the city. I guess the point is to have somewhere like this to get away from the constant hustle of the city. I cut my eyes to Maddy and wonder if she likes because no one knows her, or if she hates it because she is forced to be here. She catches me stealing a glance as we walk past a sandy area with two volleyball nets. I give her a reassuring smile and she interlocks her free arm with mine.

  I’ve been so lost in taking in the massive skyscrapers in the backdrop that I’m not sure exactly where we are when the drizzling rain turns to chilly sheets. We duck inside a tunnel to escape the fat drops splattering down on us.

  “I’m hungry,” Beraz announces.

  “Me, too.” I step out of the small tunnel and glimpse the surrounding buildings to spot a restaurant or a vendor or something that sells food. “I’m sure there’s something at those buildings.”

  “Probably,” Maddy says, wringing out her hair. “But I don’t know if they’d allow us to drip water on their floor.”

  “We’ll wait out the rain,” Beraz says, pulling Maddy closer to him. She lays her head on his chest as he wraps his arms around her. I pretend to be interested in my cuticles.

  Beraz’s stomach growls loudly. “On second thought, how about I find the food and bring it back? Maybe they’ll take one dripping customer over three.”

  Maddy nods as my own stomach snarls in agony. He kisses her cheek before sprinting up the small hill and across traffic.

  “You ever danced in the rain, Jackson?” Maddy asks absently, holding her hand out to catch a few raindrops.

  I chuckle. “I’m not a dance-in-the-rain kinda guy.” But then I think, why not? I pull off my hoodie and hang it on a loose brick inside the dry tunnel.

  “We’ll need music.” I grab her hand. “You should sing.”

  She smiles and bites her lip. “Any suggestions?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  The last thing I want to do is piss Beraz off by dancing with his girlfriend in the middle of New York City while he’s on a food run, but I dance with her anyway. I lead us into the downpour. The heavy patter of rain seems to slow to Maddy’s beautiful voice quietly singing a Saving Jane song. I close my eyes and spin her around, wishing for the entire world she was mine.

  “Tell me something,” I say. I spin her around, out, and back to me. “Are you scared?”

  She looks up. Too many emotions to count flicker across her face in a span of seconds. “Fear is a useless emotion.”

  “But you’re afraid?” Our feet never stop moving as she silently debates her answer. She spins again and I dip her low. Our faces are close. Probably too close.

  “Every second of every day,” she replies.

  “Mommy, mommy!” a child giggles from the overpass above the tunnel. “Look!”

  I glance up to a mother and a little girl rushing through the downpour beneath a small umbrella. The mom smiles and says to her daughter, “They’re in love, sweetie.”

  Maddy’s face is a mixture of incredulity and embarrassment. I laugh it off and chalk up the flutter in my stomach to hunger.

  Shortly after the rain slows to a drizzle, Beraz returns with our meal of croissants, Paris ham, aged Gruyère, something Maddy called pain au chocolat, and bottles of water.

  “How is Paris ham different from Georgia ham?” I ask, holding up the thin slice of meat. I sniff the cheese and cringe at the smell. I eat it anyway.

  “The manager just threw stuff in my hands,” Beraz says, “And cursed me in French for dripping water on her floor.”

  “It’s the curing process,” Maddy replies. “This particular ham is Jambon de Bayonne; it’s salted and air-dried, similar to country ham.”

  “You have an awful lot of knowledge about ham,” Beraz says. I nod in agreement.

  “I like to read about food.”

  “Weirdo,” I say.

  Maddy smiles. “Usually.”

  While we walk and finish our food, I can’t help but admire the way she looks wearing my hoodie.

  Maddy

  Spinning and dipping while drops of water splash around you is exhilarating. I will probably have a terrible cold after today. The dance signaled a truce, possibly even forming a friendship I had long since given up on.

  I am cautious of the friendship. I have to be.

  Tonight my apartment is alive with the sounds of Dom and Jackson screaming at a baseball game on television while helping pack up the rest of my things to be donated. I am taking only two changes of clothes and whatever I have on my body the day I leave for basic training. The lawyer is holding onto Mama’s things for me until I come back. They are in, what she calls her “private safety deposit box” located on her family’s property in Port Chester.

  Trusting her with those two boxes I kept hidden all those years is one of the most difficult things I've ever agreed to. I cannot take them with me, and as much as I love Dom, the relationship is still new. Jackson is out of the question. I trust him. As stupid as that seems, I really do. It’s his demons I don’t trust.

  Everything in the apartment that isn’t bolted down is being hauled away. I cleared everything on the laptop and tablet. Jackson mapped out pawn shops in New Jersey and Maryland, where they will sell both of them along the way. He also suggested the cell phones should be cleared and donated to a women’s shelter. He said they are turned on for the women to have numbers for potential employers and for access to 911.

  “The car has to go,” I announce when a commercial comes on.

  “The Beemer's too noticeable to sell or donate,” Dom says. “It would raise too many questions.”

  “The only thing you can do is burn it.”

  “Exactly,” I reply.

  Si
multaneous eyebrow raises.

  I place the paper from my lawyer on the table. Dom reads over the information. Twice. Jackson looks pained.

  “What kind of lawyer is she, Maddy?” Dom asks, handing the paper to Jackson.

  “A quiet one.”

  Jackson holds up the paper. “You trust me with this?”

  I smile knowingly. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll try anything shady.”

  “What makes you think I won’t?”

  “Because one phone call to Violet will change your mind in two-point-two seconds.”

  Jackson shudders. Dom laughs, “She brought out the big guns on that one, Monroe.”

  We discuss the plan, things that could go wrong with the plan, escape routes if the plan goes wrong, and who to call if bail money is needed. By 2 a.m. they are asleep in the living room. I lie awake, cradled into Dom. His arms are wrapped around me and his hands are laced in mine under my chin. I kiss his fingers. His wrist.

  I feel his response to my kisses pressed against my bottom. A stirring I’ve never felt before tingles in my belly. I like the feeling. It scares me, but I like it. I snuggle further into him and he pulls me tighter.

  The next morning, I reluctantly peel myself away from Dom’s still-sleeping body and leave for the school’s exit interview. He calls while I’m finishing the paperwork in President Highland’s office. I allow the call go to voicemail. After more prodding, Highland reluctantly signs over the anonymous tuition donation.

  I do not look back when I walk out the doors.

  I drop off the cell phones at a women’s shelter before stopping by the youth center and saying goodbye to the kids. Cecilia piggy backs me the entire time. I feel like I’m letting her down by leaving, but what other choice do I have? I can stay and be killed, or I can leave with a proper goodbye to save my own life.

  The kids’ parting gift is a handmade address book with each of their names and addresses inside. I promise to write them.

  “I less than three you, Maddy,” Cecilia says.

  “I less than three you, too, sweetie.” I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her wild curls. “Be good, okay?”

  I let go of her hands and wipe the tears from her eyes. It’s hard to walk out, knowing I will never see her again.

  I do not look back when I walk out the doors.

  Monroe and I are sightseeing, Dom’s message said. We’ll meet you at the recruiting office at eleven.

  “You ready to go, G-A?” Sergeant Davis doesn’t look up from his desk. He is finalizing the paperwork that promises me to the United States Army for four years.

  “I’m ready, Sergeant.”

  He proceeds to go over everything I’m going to need, plus forbidden items.

  Do you know there’s a clause saying you can’t take your grandparents to basic training? For that to even be a clause, someone in the past brought their grandparents with them. Honestly, did they think the drill sergeants would overlook someone’s grandpa dropping and giving twenty?

  Sergeant Davis shoos me out of the office by ten thirty. I try calling Dom to meet for lunch, but the call goes straight to voicemail. The same happens when I try Jackson. They are probably at the MoMA with their phones turned off. I send Dom a text to say I am going to the apartment. After much hailing, I slide into a cab and stretch across the backseat.

  “Good morning,” Sonny greets not-so-happily.

  “Morning, Mr. Sonny,” I reply as he opens the door. “How are you?”

  He doesn’t look at me when he says, “Goodthankstakecarenow.”

  I’m a little taken aback by his solemn mood. “You sure you’re okay, sir?”

  He glances uneasily to the side and slaps a smile on his face. “Yes, Miss Carrington. Have a good day.”

  I proceed to my apartment, thinking about his strange behavior and hoping everything is okay. I work through the deadbolts and turn the key in the doorknob. Before I turn the handle, my hair is pulled from behind and my face slammed into the unopened door.

  The sour smell etches my nostrils before his words reach my ear.

  “Heard you got some friends in town this weekend,” Larry growls, pushing open the door and throwing me to the floor. “Let’s give them a nice welcome.”

  I take a moment to realize why Sonny was acting so strange.

  Jackson

  Shadows of skyscrapers pool in shades of black on the asphalt. Movements and faces reflect menacingly against storefront windows. Horns sound with beepbeep beeeeeeeeeeep, sirens blare, cars backfire, and music streams from various directions. Voices of thousands of people have become one loud murmur. This city never ends. Ever.

  I begin to sweat. My heart rate increases. I feel my blood distribute to my limbs and muscles, preparing me to fight. Or flee. It was only a matter of time before I began looking for an enemy in a sea of faces.

  “We should eat,” Beraz says. “You look like shit.”

  We walk for blocks and end up in a juice bar that only serves food like kale muffins and sweet potato parsley juice. The muffins aren’t bad—I eat three, actually—but I needed something that doesn’t involve Thanksgiving dinner side dishes in the form of juice.

  “Monroe,” Beraz says quietly, tossing his unfinished brownish-greenish protein smoothie concoction in the garbage. “I’m not feeling . . . I don’t know. I feel weird.”

  I nod in agreement.

  Between all the people, the health food overload and my impromptu adrenaline spike, I’m dead tired and drained from too much human interaction by the time we get to the recruiting office.

  “Hey, Private,” one of the recruiters says. He shakes Beraz’s hand then turns to me. “You must be Specialist Monroe. I’m Sergeant Davis.”

  I promptly stand at attention. “Nice to meet you, Sergeant.”

  “At ease, Specialist. We’re not that formal around here.”

  “Is she in the back?” Beraz looks anxiously over Sergeant Davis’s shoulder.

  He shakes his head. “The appointment was over by ten thirty.”

  Beraz turns on his phone. It beeps with a text message. “She’s gone back to the apartment.”

  For the next few minutes I talk with Sergeant Davis and another recruiter, Sergeant Tuan, about Fort Bragg. Beraz tries to contact Maddy with no luck.

  Suddenly, he jumps from his seat and bolts out the door. I say goodbye to the recruiters and run after him.

  We should have known something was wrong when the doorman, Sonny, eyes us uneasily as we approach the building. There is a slight chill in the air from yesterday’s rain, but the man is sweating profusely.

  “G-g-g-g-ood after-r-r-r-n-n-noon, ff-ellas.” I don’t remember him having a stutter.

  The uneasy look. The sweating. The stutter. None of this tipped us off.

  It isn’t until we step off the elevator and spot the small spatter of blood on the crisp white apartment door that panic sets in.

  I bang on the door while Beraz fumbles for the keys.

  “Do you have them?” he asks, his voice heavy with alarm. I shake my head and continue banging on the door while he pulls a credit card and an Army-issued Gerber knife from his pocket. “This shit is not a coincidence.”

  “You break into many houses, Beraz?” The crack in my voice does not mask my panic.

  “Small trick of the trade,” he replies grimly. “If those deadbolts are locked, we’re kicking this door in.”

  Seconds later, he pushes the door open. The scene before me glides through my brain in slow motion. Maddy’s immaculate, spick-and-span apartment is turned upside down. Plates are shattered across the floor. Bistro chairs are smashed to pieces. Couch cushions and pillows are strewn everywhere, the couch overturned.

  Drops of blood spatter trail randomly throughout the space. My heart drops when I spot a pair of jeans on the floor that, by the look of them and the blood around the waistband, appear to have been ripped violently from her body.

  “Oh, God,” I mumble. “Oh, God.”

&nbs
p; “Maddy!” Beraz calls out. He pauses beside me. His body seems to fold in on itself at the sight of the tattered clothing at my feet. He checks the master and spare bedrooms while I proceed down the hallway.

  I turn the bathroom’s doorknob. “Beraz, this one’s locked.”

  “Kick that shit open!”

  I kick that shit open.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I whisper at the sight.

  Beraz rushes past me. Maddy is in the bathtub with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. The tub is filled with ankle-deep, murky pink water. An oddly familiar cocktail of liquor and bad cologne fills the air.

  “Baby, look at me,” Beraz says. “Please look at me.”

  No response.

  I drop to my knees beside the tub and begin draining the icy water. When we left this morning she was wearing a white shirt that read, I love you to the moon and back. Now the material is unrecognizable in shreds of blood-caked fabric.

  I do not recognize her face. Bruises have formed on her arms, cheeks, and beneath her eyes. Blood seeps from a range of places I cannot pinpoint. The cut above her left eyebrow has clotted. A large bump sticks out above the right. Her nose and mouth are stained with crusted blood.

  Part of my mind says to call 911. The other part knows Maddy would not want that. Beraz is right, this shit is not a coincidence. But what, exactly, does that mean? Before I can process anything, Beraz tries scooping her out of the tub.

  Maddy screams and throws a punch, clocking Beraz on the jaw. Her eyes are open, but she isn’t there. She’s in survival mode. Wavering for an instant after the blow, Beraz shakes himself and tries lifting her again. Maddy kicks and screams out words I never thought would come out of her mouth. Instead of swinging, this time she springs to her knees. Something clangs against the bathtub as she locks both hands around Beraz’s wrists, holding him in a control grip. He tilts his head just in time to avoid her headbutt.

  “Dammit, where did she learn this?”

  If you’ve ever been in a control grip, then you know they are nearly impossible to break unless the distributor is weak or you use your legs to distract him. Or in this case, her. I’ve been on the receiving end of Maddy’s control grip, and let me tell you she is not weak. As a matter of fact, it hurts likes hell.