5
ADAS
“Okay, does anyone have a rundown of our last shipment? How did it go?” I ask as I enter the warehouse.
I walk into the main distribution area, where all of my men are waiting for me. It’s unusual that I would stop the production process to have a meeting, but in light of recent events, I find it necessary to make sure everyone knows what happened.
“Do you mean the one from three weeks ago?” asks Erik, who has been overseeing all of the production processes for the past month.
“Yes. Just before we shipped out, there was an attempt on the life of our rival, Marat Srokov. We did not succeed in killing him, but I understand there were casualties as a result,” I reply, lighting a cigar as I sit down.
“Okay, so we did attempt to kill him, and we were unsuccessful. We managed to kill three of his men, though, and from what I understand, one of them was his advisor. So, we’ve got him in a good place as far as failed assassinations go,” he explains in his overly formal tone.
I take a puff off my cigar. “Alright, good. Does anybody have an eye on him for the foreseeable future? Just to get an idea of his whereabouts until we’re able to strike again,” I ask nobody in particular.
“I’ve got some men watching him for the next few weeks. So far, he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary, but I’ve made sure that they know what to look for,” Gregory interjects. He has a habit of trying to speak over Erik.
“Okay, sounds like you guys have everything taken care of. We need to take our Marat before we move forward. He’s too dangerous to be fucking with on a regular basis like we have been,” I reply, continuing to puff on my cigar to the chagrin of two men on either side of me.
The room grows silent.
I take a deep breath, letting the cigar fall down to my side. “So, there’s something else I needed to go over with you all. We had an additional casualty from the shootout that you might be unaware of. She’s in her early to mid-twenties, and she was shot in the head by a stray bullet. She just got out of a coma a week ago and has no memories from before she woke up,” I explain, watching everybody’s expressions change gradually.
“I don’t recall there being anyone else on the scene,” Erik replies.
“Yeah, because you were doing your job, which was slaughtering Marat’s main man. Good for you, by the way. It doesn’t change the fact that there’s a woman in my house who thinks she’s my wife, and it’s going to stay that way,” I say sharply.
Erik and Gregory exchange confused glances. “Why does she think she’s your wife? And why is she living in your house? If she’s a civilian, you could have just called an ambulance for her anonymously,” Gregory replies.
I roll my eyes. “That isn’t a concern of yours at this time, Gregory. What’s important is that you learn more about who she really was before she lost her memory. Her real name is Ruth Blakely, and she lives on the south side of the city. That’s all I was able to gather from her wallet other than the fact that she’s a bone marrow donor.”
“Oh, good for her,” he replies.
“Shut the fuck up, Gregory.”
Gregory sits down, narrowing his eyes at me and crossing his arms.
Erik speaks up after a moment of silence. “She isn’t technically a casualty if she isn’t dead. From what it sounds like, and correct me if I’m wrong here, she seems to be doing fine. I’ve interacted with her a few times, though I didn’t think she had any idea where she was.”
I sigh heavily. “She can’t fucking walk, Erik. Take this ID and look her up. Try to figure out what the fuck she was doing on the scene if you can. I want to know if she's a cop or something, though I think they’d have come looking for her by now if that was the case.”
I toss him the ID, which he drops before picking up off the floor.
“Anyway, it’s important that no matter how opportunistic it seems, you donotmove in on Marat until we’ve formed a cohesive plan. We can’t fuck this up again, or he’s going to retaliate worse than he already has,” I continue.
Just as I’m about to continue speaking, my phone starts to vibrate.
It’s River’s doctor.
I leave the room without an explanation to take the call. Could there be something wrong with River’s bloodwork? I did appoint myself as her guardian, so he could be calling for anything, but it still leaves a pit in my stomach.
“Hey doc, how’s River’s bloodwork?” I ask, feeling myself starting to sweat as soon as I answer the phone.
“Oh, yeah, her bloodwork is fine. I just wanted to call and let you know that we’re having trouble finding any of her other medical records, which would make it easier for us to prescribe medications for her based on her family history. Would you be able to contact her former physician’s office?” he asks.
I freeze in place. I never thought that a doctor would actually need her past records in the case of an emergency like this. She was injured, but she didn’t collapse from a seizure or a premature heart attack. Why would he need to see her old records?
“I could try to find them, but she’s from out of state, and I’m pretty sure her primary care doctor from her hometown has retired,” I reply, having absolutely no fucking idea how I’m going to convincingly keep this charade up.