8
LIAM
WE’VE WALKED A few blocks away from the motel where I turned Margaret’s hair into something a clown would envy, and she hasn’t spoken to me since she cursed me out in the bathroom. I tried to assure her we could turn it back, but even she knew I was full of shit.
Maybe it was possible, but I was no hairstylist.
I was on the lookout for a car when she hmphed again and shoved another chocolate donut in her mouth. Somehow those little donuts seemed to calm her down, and I stored away that nugget of information.
Even though we’ve already royally fucked up her hair, unfortunately I am going to have to do something else to it. The orange is very…obvious, and now, instead of blending in, we stand out even more.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see what I’m looking for and jog across the street to where it sits. I look around for people watching and see most anyone in the vicinity is either on their phone or doesn’t care. Using a tool I keep handy for situations such as these, I thrust it into the car’s lock and jiggle it until I feel it break free and the door unlocks.
I watch Margaret go around the other side and silently wait for me to unlock the other door, her silence making me more nervous than the constant rambling she normally gives me. At least when she’s yelling at me, I know why she’s angry. The silent treatment makes me uneasy.
Jumping into the car, I reach underneath the steering wheel and pull the cover off revealing a plethora of wiring. Ripping down the wires underneath and finding the ones I need, I cut them with the knife I always carry and twist them together, effectively starting the car.
I look over at her with a smirk on my face, prepared for her to be completely impressed by my skills only to find her staring out the window.
I sigh and pull the car out onto the street then try to engage her in conversation. “I’m sorry about your hair. I’ll pay to have it fixed as soon as we can.”
She swallows her snack and looks at me, seeming to contemplate what she wants to say. “It’s fine. I’m just not happy with how my day has been going.”
“Well, it’s a new day now,” I say, looking at the clock, which reads two in the morning. We’ve accomplished a lot in the last few hours. “We just have to get to someone I know who can help. I can leave you there with him.”
“What?” She whips her head toward me. “I’m not staying with some stranger. I barely trust you.”
I push down the unfamiliar sting I feel when she says that. “I can’t take you where I need to go. It’s too dangerous.”
“Are you serious? I pulled a bullet out of you. I dragged you up six flights of stairs. I changed my hair for you. Now you’re just leaving me?”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe!” I take a breath, trying to control my rising temper. “You want to end up on the nightly news as a sad story, you can stick with me. Otherwise, you stay with Mike.”
“Mike?” She shakes her head. “No. No way. I’m not leaving your side. You said you’d keep me safe, and that’s what you’re going to do.”
I release a sigh and give her a sideways glance; she looks like she’s ready to throw down, and I stifle a chuckle. I’ll play her game for now, but there’s no way I’ll let her come with me.
“So…are you going to tell me what all of this is really about?” she asks, biting into another of her precious donuts.
“They call themselves G3, though I have no idea what it stands for. It’s an operation based out of Russia that’s infiltrating America. They have a few setups, but I’ve been trailing Anton Sokolov. He’s a notorious drug lord in Russia and has decided he wants more for his little business. I’ve been following him and the organization for three years.”
“Three years? All alone?” She looks sad when I glance at her.
I nod. “Yeah, that’s the job. It’s hard work, lonely, but the outcome always outweighs all that other bullshit.”
“What bullshit? Having a family or a girlfriend? Real friends?”
“Exactly that shit.” Margaret looks like I kicked her puppy, and I keep my eyes trained on the road. “I’m not saying that stuff is bad, but in my life, in my line of work, the two just don’t mix. If by some chance anyone got ahold of who I was, not my undercover alias but my real name and family, they would use it against me to get whatever they wanted. It’s not worth the risk.”
She seems to think that over, probably wondering the same thing I’ve been contemplating since she came crashing into my life: But what if? What if I wasn’t a spy for the FBI? What if I had a normal job and could actually be someone?
I’m too chickenshit to admit that if I were normal, if my job were even close to normal, she’d be who I would go for. No doubt.
“Okay, well, tell me everything else then.” Her change of subject is a good idea, and I appreciate her not digging deep on this one even when I can tell it’s exactly what she wants to do.
“G3 has been a big name in the drug industry from Denver to Nevada, and while that may not seem like a lot of space, it’s way too much. They’ve even been trying to get Mexico in on it, but thankfully—if you want to look at it that way—Mexico already has their own shit and they don’t want to play nice with the Russians.”
“But what happened with the FBI? Why won’t they help you?”