“Here’s my card. Let us know.” He holds out a card between his pointer and middle finger. I take it reluctantly and toss it in the cupholder beside me. I make sure to keep my eyes on him as he exits my vehicle, and I lock the doors again.
Everything feels out of place. The steering wheel in one hand, the clutch in the other, my foot pressing hard on the gas pedal to be anywhere but there. I don’t want to think about this, but if I don’t, people I’ve grown to care for will be hurt. I don’t know what he meant by “damage to persons,” but it was vague enough that I got the ominous picture. People's lives are on the line, and I’m the one either pushing them off or pulling them into a false reality.
I’m fucking screwed.
I feel my eyes burning, and I think this is the beginning of crying my eyes out, but the tears never come. The rest of the way home, I have a lump in my throat, and my eyes are screaming while I do nothing but go with the motions of the road. After arriving in my parking lot, I head up the creaky old metal steps to my apartment. When I reach the top of the stairs, I see a red piece of paper stuck to my door.
“Please let this be an advertisement,” I beg the wind as I take cautious steps forward until the tears finally spill over when I realize what I’ve been dreading has come true. There, posted in the center of my nasty old wood door that could give you a splinter if you knocked hard enough, is an Eviction Notice.
“Shit.” I bite my lip, trying to pout as my face uncontrollably contorts. I rip the sign off the door and unlock it, staring at my shabby place in the dark. No more credit lines available for the debt I’m in, no paycheck yet from my new job, and all my last checks from my other jobs went to paying for my sister and mom.
I look at the date on the notice; I need to be out in three days. Fuck me. Three days? The tears have stopped, and it’s just anger now. A furious, burning anger that the universe clearly hates me because everything terrible is aligning, and I can’t do shit about it. I crumple the notice up and throw it in the direction of the trashcan. I hear it fall on the floor as I open a cabinet with nothing in it but my last packet of ramen.
Somehow, after the comedown of adrenaline, I want a snack, so naturally, I’m choosing to use my last meal as just that. I throw it in a bowl of water and dump the seasoning in before tossing it in the microwave and setting the time for three minutes.
As I wait, I lean against the counter and look out at my room, barely furnished with things from sidewalks and craigslist. It’s not the nicest space, but I was barely here before my life turned upside-down, and I guess nothing changed much in that department because I’ve been here even less since taking this job.
My microwave lets me know, very aggressively, that my ramen is done. I cancel the cook-timer and take it out with the tips of my fingers, curling up on the couch with my phone in hand. I bury the bottom of the bowl in the covers so it doesn’t burn me as I scroll through my messages with Tito. Being on my phone was meant to be a distraction, but when it's late and I’m alone, I can't help but think about him.
Wish I would have never gotten in my car tonight. Wish I would have just kissed him in the back of that car, despite Van’s presence in the driver's seat.
At least then, I might be at his home now, laying in bed with him, tangled in the sheets. God, I’ve never wanted to have sex with someone this badly. It’s probably why I’ve maintained my virginity and my lack of relationship know-how. Everything in my life until this point has not been easy, but making decisions for myself was never the difficult part. A part of me longs for that version of myself, hidden away in the corner of my brain, so this new, Tito-infatuated-dimwit can shine through.
I don’t know how I could be so stupid. How could I reorder my priorities in such a short amount of time? It scares me that someone can change so quickly. That in a matter of days, I could be trailing behind a man, looking out for his interest over my own. What have I become?
I care about Tito. I do. But what if the only way to truly care for him is to let him go, accept this FBI offer, and disappear from his life forever? At least then, I’ll have enough money to get out of debt and leave LA for somewhere far less ruthless on the lower classes of society. My heart aches thinking about the situation in this way, but I can’t get emotional now. I’ve already done that, and look where it’s gotten me.
Surely, if I comply with the FBI like they’re asking, I can ensure that Tito and his family remain unharmed. This is an option I'm willing to explore. Anyways, it's the least I can do for him if Ibetray their trust like this. Worst of all, I don’t think I have another option at this point. My stomach aches to think any more about this, and my head feels as though it’s sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Pressure is building, space around me is growing darker and my mind is beginning to shut down from diving too deep.
I barely finish my ramen before my eyes begin to droop, and I feel sleep calling for me. In response, I put my ramen on the side table, curl up under my covers while avoiding the spring that sticks out on the front left side, and immediately fall asleep.
The next morning, I wake up in a panic. Then the morning after that is the same. I ignore the calls and texts from Tito all weekend as I try desperately to focus on the choices I’m being presented with. By the time Sunday evening rolls around, I’m surprised Tito hasn’t sent out a search warrant for me. It’s looking more clear what option is best because Tito will want to protect me, just as much as I want to protect him.
I don’t like the way my brain is tracking, so I shut it out, force myself to fall asleep, and have actual nightmares. All night, I'm aimlessly wandering down a dark hall, knowing something is chasing me, and something is about to pop out. I can’t go backward, and forwards promises an inevitable fright. By the time I open my eyes to the darkness of 4 a.m., I think I’m still stuck in that hall. But when I look at my phone and see a text from an unknown number that says, “Have an answer for us yet?” I nearly throw my phone across the room. So, the nightmare does continue.
In my groggy-eyed state, I manage to text back. “Can you guarantee something for me if I say yes?” within a second, my phone rings, but there is no caller id. I answer because I'm sure it’s Riggs.
“Riggs?” I ask when I accept the call.
“Good morning, Ms. Summers.” I cringe at the sound of his voice. It’s silent for a moment before he realizes I'm waiting for him, and he continues. “So, you wanted something in exchange for your compliance?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re aware we’re paying you to do this, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, it makes sense to you when I say that wedon’tnegotiate.”
“Well, you’ll have to find someone else who can do the job. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Riggs. I really hope you guys get what you’re looking for.” I pretend as though I'm about to hang up, and the idiot buys it.
“Wait.”
“Oh, hello?”
“Yes, I’m still here.”
“Good, then you’ll be able to agree that the San Giovanni’s safety is most important in all of this. If I comply, none of them will be harmed. That needs to be guaranteed in writing.” There’s a brief pause on the line, and I tap my toe anxiously as I wait for him to answer.