Rita
The motel complex where the fire victims are staying isn’t far from the burned husk of the apartment building. I can still smell charred wood and melted plastic in the air as I stroll toward the courtyard.
I called Eduardo an hour ago. He said he’d meet me here-he had business with some of his former tenants already. I wanted to get it over with right away, but I figured this was something better done in person, so I agreed. But now that I’m here, I wish I hadn’t come at all.
It reminds me too much of what I lost. And what all these people lost too.
Kids run around on a pathetically small grassy patch. A few adults watch them. Dejected and tired-looking people. My kind of folks. I smile and wave to an older woman I recognize from the building. She waves back. Her kids fall to the ground, a girl and a boy, wrestling in the dirt. She doesn’t bother telling them to stop. The slump of her shoulders, the faraway stare, these people are in shock, still mourning the loss of all their belongings. Their entire lives, incinerated. They’re hurting.
They’re like me.
I can only imagine the hell this must be for families. It’s bad enough for me, but I’m a young, single woman-I’m not a married mother of two with kids to worry about. My obligations begin and end with me. I don’t have to think about buying new diapers, new clothes, new everything for an entire family. Not to mention the trauma those poor kiddos went through.
Breaks my damn heart, seeing these families like this. Puts my own pain into perspective.
“Rita, there you are.” Eduardo comes striding over. He was talking with a group of older men at the far end of the courtyard. His smile is big, but guarded. I meet him halfway and shake his hand.
“How are you?” I ask. “How is everyone here?”
“Holding it together.” His smile fades. “How are you?”
I grimace slightly. Poor Eduardo saw me at my most emotional. Well, at my most sober emotional. I vaguely recall sobbing over the toilet last night after a second bottle of champagne. My head throbs, but the memory is a merciful blur.
“I’m fine. Working some things out.” I try to give him a smile, but it feels wrong here.
“Wonderful, wonderful. Look, what did you want to discuss? I don’t mean to rush you, but I have to go speak with the fire marshal in a few minutes.”
“It’s, uh, sort of delicate.” I hesitate, not sure how to broach this. Turns out, I’ve never bribed someone before. My palms sweat and nervous energy whirls around my guts. “I need a favor.”
“If it’s something I can do, I’d be happy to help. Do you need a recommendation for somewhere else to live or something like that?”
“No, it’s, uh, actually-” I clear my throat. How am I supposed to do this? Do people just blurt these sorts of things out? I wish I were smooth, but unfortunately, I’m an awkward duck most of the time. Especially when trying to bribe someone, apparently. “I need you to tell people that I was living with my husband.”
It comes out in a rush. I beam at him, smiling huge, trying to convey confidence. Like this is totally, completely normal.
He blinks a few times. “You’re… married?”
“I am,” I say, which is technically true. Scar, that bastard.
“Were you actually living with him, or…?” He tilts his head, confused, and I realize Eduardo didn’t spend much time in the building. He had a manager for that, a younger, friendly guy that was always asking if I needed help with anything. A creeper named Lewis. I’m happy I’m not dealing with him.
I take the wad of cash Scar gave me and shove it into Eduardo’s hands. He stares at the money, bewildered.
“As far as you know, yes, I was living with a man named Scar,” I say quickly. “You saw him once or twice. You said hello. You were friendly.”
“I was?” He flips through the roll of twenties, blinking rapidly in shock. “I mean, right, of course I was.” Slowly, his shock turns to a smarmy grin as he shoves the money into his pocket, seamlessly accepting the cash as if that’s a totally normal thing to do.
What the hell is wrong with people?
He should be asking questions, or giving me shit, or at least wondering why the heck I’m bribing him.
Instead, it’s enough money to make all that go away.
“Thank you,” I say, turning away. “Scar says thanks as well. You were, uh, a great landlord.”
“Where will you go?” he asks. “Not that it’s my business. I’m just curious.”
“I have a place to stay.” For now, at least. I’m not proud, but I skimmed a few twenties from that stack too, just in case. “Remember, I’ve been living with Scar this whole time.”
“Nice guy. Real polite.”
“Tall, sandy brown hair. Lawyer. Dressed well. Got it?”
“Got it, don’t worry. I remember Scar.”
Eduardo winks and waves as I walk away.
Here I was thinking he’s a nice guy. Turns out, Scar is right, all landlords are bastards with flexible morals.
Not that I can blame the guy. His building did just burn to the ground. For all I know, Eduardo had his life savings invested in that place.
And if I’m honest, right now if someone came up to me with a thousand dollars in cash, and all I had to do was pretend I saw someone, I’d accept with a smile.
Still, I have a very low opinion of people at the moment.
And myself, apparently.
I hurry away from the motel. Sweat rolls down my back. It’s a hot Texas afternoon. All I want to do is get inside, out of the sun, into the air conditioning, and drink about ten gallons of water. I must smell like alcohol and bile. These clothes need to be washed, though I have no idea how I’ll get that done. Hell, I need a whole new wardrobe. Which isn’t happening anytime soon.
As I trudge along, I think about Scar. About the way he was looking at me back in his office. The way he stared at my lips, at my chest. His gaze drifting down my body, tongue licking his lips like he was starving for something. That man acts like he despises me, like I’m the biggest pain in his ass, and yet he looks at me like he wants to drag me off to some cave to ravage me silly.
There’s a sick part of me that wants it too.
He said I moaned. When he kissed me, he said I gave him a little whimper. And in his office, I denied it.
But he’s right. I did whimper. Because that kiss was unbelievable.
Dimly, I become aware of a car. It’s a dark sedan driving slowly, maybe fifty feet behind me. I glance over my shoulder, frowning, shading my eyes against the bright sun. I can’t tell who’s driving, or if someone’s riding in the back, but when I stop walking, it slows even more until the car stops directly across from me.
My heart’s racing with nerves.
I think it’s Scar until the window rolls down.
Gregory Callahan stares out. No smile, no greeting. Just a grim frown, a tilted head.
“Hello, Mrs. Scarfoni,” he says. I can’t tell if he puts an ironic emphasis on the Mrs. part or not. “Where are you going at the hottest time of the day?”
“I was, uh, visiting some people from the apartment building,” I say, plastering on a stupid smile while inwardly I’m screaming for help.
“How are they doing?” he asks, sounding absolutely bored.
“Good. I mean, bad. But as good as they can be, under the circumstances.”
“I’m sure it must be hard.” His eyes narrow. “Why don’t I give you a ride?”
“Uh-” I look around. Nobody’s nearby. We’re in the middle of a street, but it’s all businesses and shade trees. “No, I’m okay, really.”
“I insist. Get in the car, Rita. I mean, Mrs. Scarfoni.”
The door shoves open and Gregory moves over to give me room.
I hesitate, staring inside. There’s a driver, a big guy with dark sunglasses, but hell, he’s probably in their crime family too. That guy wouldn’t care if Gregory strangled me to death in front of him. If I get in that car, there’s no guarantee I’ll ever come back out again.
But how can I deny him without seeming rude? Without looking shady?
“Okay, uh, thank you very much.” I slip inside and close the door. “I was headed back to the office to see Scar.”
“Good. I was thinking I’d drop by as well.”
He doesn’t look at me as the driver pulls out into traffic.