Blurred (Connections #3.5)

Blurred (Connections #3.5) Page 8

“They ordered more than 100 murders. How can that be all you have?” I ask.

“We have houses purchased to store coc**ne that are empty. That’s what we have.”

“Fuck!” I yell. “I had it all detailed in the story . . . the routes, the houses, the people, the money trail.”

“We know but without the data that supported the story we are at a standstill,” Agent Bass informs me.

I shake my head. “I gave it all to Caleb. I told you that. I didn’t even keep a backup on my computer. I didn’t want anything left behind.”

“That’s not entirely true, now, is it?” By this point the detective practically seethes in anger.

“Phil, Ben has been through a lot. I think he’s given us everything he has.” Agent Bass defends me to the detective.

Our silence takes over the room as I struggle to compose myself and he does the same.

Thirty minutes and a dozen of more of the same questions later, I’m walking out the door and being escorted back into the black SUV. As we drive back to my fleabag motel, we pass Beck’s.

“Hey, pull over here,” I direct the driver.

When he does, I hop out and slam the door. I’m pissed as hell that they think I might have held on to information and even more pissed that they can’t figure out what they have. Are they f**king imbeciles? I’d have offered to do it myself but there’s no way I’m opening that Pandora’s box again.

“You okay, man?” Beck asks when I storm through the door.

“Could be better.”

“Want to talk about it?”

For some reason I do and for the first time in a long time, I open up and tell him everything I’ve tried to forget—and as the weight starts to lift, it feels so f**king good to finally breathe.

Chapter 5

Demons

Friday morning comes way too fast. I feel hungover as shit and for the first time in a while I don’t get out of bed right away. Everything I worked so hard to move past is right back in front of me and I want to just forget it. When I finally wake up it’s after three. I roll out of bed and run down to the small coffee shop I’ve gone to every day this week. The girl behind the counter has worked every day since I got to LA. And just like the previous days, when I approach she smiles, almost like she feels sorry for me. And just before, I shrug off her attention with a smile in return.

When I get back to the motel, I read for an hour or so and then grab my journal to write down everything that happened yesterday. A phone book directory? It makes no sense. All the other data I sorted through was pretty straight forward, but I don’t have time to ponder what Bass said. I have thirty minutes until I’m supposed to meet Christine and it’s at least ten blocks away. I take a quick shower and since Novels is nothing fancy I throw on a pair of chinos and a plaid button-down. I opt for my sneakers since I don’t have any dress shoes with me.

Walking briskly through the cool night air, I arrive at the restaurant just a few minutes after seven. I look around but I don’t see Christine anywhere. I inquire with the hostess and she leads me to a room on the other side of the restaurant. I spot her immediately. She’s seated in a secluded quiet booth in the corner. When I approach, she smiles and stands to greet me.

“Ben.” She sighs.

“Hey there gorgeous. Sorry I’m late,” I say, laying on the charm in the way I know she likes.

“It’s so good to see you.” She hugs me. She pulls back to look at me again and then draws me in a little too close, for a little too long.

I finally break free and give her the once over like she’s giving me. The only difference is my examination doesn’t last long and is much less obvious. She’s around my sister’s age, attractive with long hair and dark eyes, but looks older. She’s wearing a short dress with a low neckline, not the same kind of casual I went for. I notice two glasses of wine and sushi already on the table.

“I thought we would celebrate your return and I ordered us some food. I haven’t eaten all day and I needed something to hold me over.”

It’s just like old times and I can’t help but give her a big grin. We spend the next thirty minutes talking about what happened to me. I keep to the basics—where I lived and what I did while I was in New York City, avoiding any other details since a gag order prevents me from discussing the case. We consume two bottles of wine in no time and when she prompts me to finish off the last of the sushi, I do. The waiter had approached us a few times to see if we were ready to order dinner, but Christine dismissed him each time with a simple wave of her hand. Finally, she beckons him to our table and I think she’s ready. Not only am I starving, but ordering also puts me one step closer to ending this night. However, when he approaches she only orders another bottle of wine. I don’t say anything. She’s running the show and she knows it. I’m used to this. Every after hours meeting I ever had with her was always on her timetable and always involved at least one bottle of wine.

“Sir, are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, after pouring the new bottle of wine. I glance across the table directing the question to her.

“Give us thirty minutes of uninterrupted time, please. We have business to discuss.”

After one more glass, I am seriously buzzed and I haven’t even gotten to the reason I called her. Wanting to get it out there, I interrupt her chatter as she tells me about management structure changes and circulation issues at the paper. I clear my throat, hoping to sound a little more professional than I feel at this moment. “Christine, I asked to meet with you because I really need a job and I was wondering if you could help me out.”

Suddenly the restaurant seems very quiet. She takes another sip of her wine. “Oh.”

“Yes, I’d love my old job back.”

She stretches out her arms and swirls the liquid in the glass she’s holding while making a face as if in deep thought. She really does enjoy putting on a show. When she sets her glass down and leans forward slightly, I avert my eyes to avoid seeing the tops of her br**sts. But when her cool hand covers mine, I can’t stop myself from flinching. Her fingers stroke my skin, soft, slow. This whole charade literally makes my skin crawl. Some might call it sexual harassment. Me, I see it like it is—an older woman looking for attention. I was always good at giving her just enough. But tonight, walking the line seems more difficult.

“We might be able to work something out,” she says.

I look anywhere but at her. “Work something out how?”

She clears her throat. “Listen Ben I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want the article you wrote before everything happened.”

I guess the cougar wants my piece, not me. Although I’m not sure I should be shocked by this turn of events. After a beat, I answer. “Come on, Christine. You know I killed that story a long time ago.”

“Yes, I do. But you wrote it with intentions to publish. Didn’t you?”

I raise my brows. “Of course I did. Why do you want it now?”

“Do you really need to ask? It’s breaking news. Front-page news, even. It was the catalyst behind everything that has happened.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ben. No more games. You and I both know what happened. I’ve been around this business too long.”

“Well, I don’t have it.” The muscles in my jaw tighten. All I want is to put that part of my life behind me and move forward. “That story is old news. You know I’m good at my job. I can help increase the paper’s circulation. You know I can.”

Her stare is relentless.

My wasted brain assesses the situation, but there’s no way out of this that will end well. I need some time to think. I set my glass down and decide I’ll hit the restroom. But my shaky fingers let go too early and the goblet tumbles over, spilling the wine everywhere. I grab my napkin and quickly start wiping it up. Her hand covers mine and she leaves it there.

“Christine, what are you doing?” I mutter with my voice a little strained.

She looks at me, and her eyes narrow.

“What?” I ask.

“Dammit, Ben! You worked for me. You owe me. Give me something.”

“I owe you? Like you said, you know how this business works. No one owes anyone anything.” I sit up straight and look across the table into her eyes. Now she looks really pissed. What the f**k? Her lips curl and her nostrils flare in the most unsightly way. She reminds me of one of my mother’s friends, one that I’ve never cared much for. The thought makes me wince. The waiter comes to the table to take our order, but he receives another wave of the hand. This one more exaggerated as Christine barks, “Our check. Now.”

He sputters but doesn’t dare speak.

My stomach lurches and I make a gagging noise. She shoots me an annoyed look.

“Excuse me.” I stand up and race to the bathroom. Fuck, I feel sick. I make it to the bathroom and puke my guts out. A cold sweat coats my body. Not sure if it was the sushi, my nerves, or the wine, but all I know is I have to get out of here. I trudge back to the table but remain standing next to her.

Her stare is unrelenting. The candlelight reflects red on her skin, making her look even angrier. I bow my head and tuck my hands in my pants pockets and try to sound contrite. “Christine, I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I feel really sick.”

Her lips purse in silent rebuke as her glance sweeps me from head to toe before she waves her hand toward the door.

I manage to keep my voice even as I say, “Goodnight, Christine. Think about what I said.”

There’s no response as I turn to walk away. I don’t even care how much the f**king cab costs me because there is no way I can walk home.

“Taxi!” I yell, as soon as my feet hit the pavement.

The road is dark and the streets are bustling with people milling about as I sit in the back seat and close my eyes to block it all out. I wish I could just wake up from this nightmare of a life I’m leading.

When I finally unlock my door, I go straight to bed. The room spins with reflected images from outside onto the ceiling. Again blonde hair morphs into red and pearls turn into twinkling green emeralds across my mind’s eye before there is darkness.

Chapter 6

Sail

I spent the morning on the bathroom floor dry heaving for hours before I felt well enough to make my way back to the bed, where I can’t even pull my shit together long enough to get up for a cup of coffee. Around five, I grab my phone and notice I have a message from Christine. I’m shocked when I listen to it. “Ben, it’s Christine. I thought over what you said yesterday and of course I have a position for you. You start Monday, nine a.m. sharp. See you then. Toodles.”

Fuck me—I didn’t give in and she’s still giving me a job. I instantly feel better. My life is turning around. I can feel it. I head down to Four & Twenty Blackbirds to grab a drink, a sandwich, and a slice of pie with a feeling of hopefulness I haven’t felt in a while. The chick who’s usually behind the counter isn’t there, but then again it’s later than I usually come in. She’s probably already off work. I order my stuff and sit at my regular booth near the window.

“You do that a lot,” a raspy voice says.

At the sound, I look up to see counter girl with her apron off but grasped tightly in her hands.

“What do I do a lot?” I ask her.

“Stare out the window and just look at the people walking by.” She takes a seat across from me.

“They’re interesting to watch.” I point out the window at an older man walking his dog. “See him?”

She nods.

“He’s trying to get his dog to listen to him. He thinks he’s training the dog, but really the dog is training him.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.” Then she points to a woman with a young boy. “What about her?”