The Fall(72)

Fuck, I was edgy.

I couldn’t sit still, my ass out of my chair as I walked around the room with nowhere to go. My feet—like the rest of me—were restless which wasn’t a good way to be. The job wasn’t over—far from it—so taking a day or two and working on my suntan wasn’t going to happen.

There was also the matter of keeping up appearances. Jimmy had told me to watch my back, which went without saying because I didn’t trust the f*cker as far as I could throw him. But the sooner they saw it was business as usual, the more convinced they would be that it was Sofia in that can. And while he would still be pissed about the lack of body, he would ultimately get over it.

So I needed a job. Something not too involved that took all my time, but that was public enough for it to be noticed.

I picked up my phone and dialed, waiting for the call to connect. It didn’t take too long, Damon famous for his excellent customer service.

“Who’s this?” he hissed into the phone, my new number not one he recognized.

“Your BFF.” I smirked against the phone. “You want to get together, eat ice cream and talk about boys?”

“Mikey, where’ve you been, you crazy son of a bitch?” Damon’s voice exploded into a laugh. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you. Very, very interesting.”

I’m sure he had, although I didn’t bother asking which version he had heard.

Damon was a bookie who had a side business as a loan shark. His one-stop-shop for gambling was also where a lot of his customers usually got into trouble. Between his willingness to open large lines of credit and his aggressive interest margins, he was responsible for a lot of men going AWOL. Either by their own means or being helped along by people like me.

And another thing, Damon liked to talk. Only thing the Irish f*cker liked more was probably to drink, and usually after a pint or two the bastard had both of those things well combined. Which meant if I was doing something for him, almost everyone would hear about it, especially those who needed to.

“What can I say? Someone needs to be a rock star and you’re too old and too fat.”

“Very true.” He chuckled. “So tell me. You want to do some freelancing for me? Or you still have a full dance card?”

“Nope, I’m a free agent.”

“Excellent. I have a few customers that need a home visit, and it’s been tough to find good help these days, Mikey.”

I’m sure it was, and I was only too happy to give my five-star guarantee.

“How about we meet at our usual spot and discuss. Tomorrow afternoon? Pretty sure you owe me a beer.”

Damon laughed. “You haven’t paid for a beer in your life, you bastard. Sounds good.” He took a breath. “And Mikey, it’s good to have you back.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Damon. I like you better when you’re an evil prick.”

The call ended with neither of us wasting unnecessary words. He would send me a message with his preferred time and I would either agree or give him one that worked better for me. Then he’d give me a list of people who I needed to visit and remind them of their financial obligations.

It would also take care of two of my problems. Stop me from sitting around an empty warehouse like a moody bastard and give me the visibility I needed. And as a bonus, Jimmy wouldn’t want to interfere in Damon’s business while I was earning for him. He and Damon shared a few mutual interests, and he wasn’t man enough to kill the association when it had been so lucrative.

All I had to do now was hope like hell Sofia didn’t do anything stupid while we waited it out. Yeah, and maybe Santa Claus would bring me a new ride too.

Fuck. It was going to be a long few days.





It hadn’t been hard to find her grave.

She was the only one missing a headstone; an otherwise unexplained gap right in the middle of the graveyard where the grass had grown over and a bush of pale pink roses had been planted.

Roses, for Rose.

It was a silent tribute, reinforcing that no one was to know where she’d been buried. The question as to why, was still a mystery.

It had been two days since Michael had left me here, and I was starting to feel the walls closing in. He promised he’d come back, help me get out. But as of yet I hadn’t heard from him. I had no idea how to contact his Polish guy to get my new documents. And had he even seen my father yet?

The anticipation was killing me with constant incessant questions refusing to stop as they tumbled endlessly inside my mind. I hated being in the dark; the not knowing killing me.

Being outside in the back courtyard and the garden was about the only thing that kept me sane. With the high hedges and tall fences designed to keep nosey neighbors out, I felt safe enough to sit without risk of being discovered.

The once filled halls were now largely vacant with only four nuns living at Saint Margaret’s convent but it was only Sister Catherine who I spoke to.

The other three seemed kind, all of them politely acknowledging me whenever I happened to be in a room. But none of them asked questions. They kept their heads bowed at meal times; eating silently before leaving the table to continue whatever activity they had left. Maybe Sister Catherine had already filled them in, telling them why I was here, or maybe they just didn’t want to be dragged into a mess that would soon be gone.