Sitting here and waiting is getting boring. It's cold and dark, and I turned the car off as to not draw suspicion. Come on, leave. Go away. The men move away and shuffle into the night. The window fogs up as I get closer and breathe on the glass, trying to see if they've moved enough out of the way. The street light no longer illuminates them. The underbelly of city bridges is the perfect place for dumping bodies but not so great for a woman by herself in the night's dead. If he doesn't show up soon, I'll just do the whole thing by myself. He's not even supposed to be here. I call the fort to ask the guys where he is and they say Boston like I'm not already here. It's suspicious, and I demand answers when he arrives. If he arrives.
I open the door and cautiously peer out, listening to the sound of cars drive by above. There isn't anything else. People reconvene at the trashcan, and I gripe as I close the door, doomed to wait longer. One of them looks over at me, causing me to back up from the window. He turns his body to me. "No, no, stay over there. I'm just sitting here, go away, no..." He's walking toward me, but at a moderate pace as he's still cautious. Fingers gently send shivers down my spine as they splay on my shoulder, and I jump while screaming as I turn around. Spy sits in my passenger seat, pushed up against the door in astonishment at my reaction.
We both stare at each other as I pant and try to calm down, pushing hair from the corner of my mouth to my side. I hit the steering wheel with open palms before aggressively tapping my hand on his shoulder as hard as I could, even though it didn't come off that way with my unsteady breathing. Spy lights a cigarette as he settles in. "Sorry to pop in unannounced."
"Yeah, ya think?" I challenge. "The hell are you doing in Boston?" The man knocks on my window, and I turn to look at him.
"You alright, lady?"
"Yeah," I yell at him, not wanting to open the door. He peers in and looks at me and Spy before walking away. "Nosy."
"Que faisons-nous ici?" He asks as he exhales smoke through his nose.
"We're getting rid of these bodies," I say. "As soon as these men move away from the area."
"Simple," Spy spins the chamber of a large revolver with engravings on the sides of a woman. He opens the door and raises it into the air and fires once. I watch the men book it away from the garbage can.
"They probably think you killed me."
"Then they won't come back," he sits back in his chair. "I will leave you to your business." I get out and open the backseat, taking out a sledgehammer.
"Uhm, Spy?" He turns back to look at me. "I actually need you for something."
"I will not do heavy-lifting."
"It's not for that." I close the back door. The Frenchman gets out of the car and walks around to the back of the vehicle, not seeming bothered by the nipping temperatures. I feel my nose warm-up but chill at the same time as I huff and open the trunk. A garbage bag sits, heads and hands inside. "I'm going to need your cigarette, and I'm going to need to know what you're doing in Massachusetts."
He hands me the tobacco, and I pull out a hand to burn away fingerprints. The streetlight flickers, a yellow hue to the area and extra orange added by the trashcan fire. Wind ravages and my hair blows into my face. The trash bag obscures my work. Spy watches my labor and takes the cigarette from me to take another drag and keep the butt burning.
"What are you doing in Boston?" I quietly ask. "I didn't give you work to come here, and Engie told me you don't have family for the holidays. You didn't even notify me of your departure."
"I am not a child, Mademoiselle." He's already up in arms. "I do not think I have to disclose my location at every waking moment to you."
"I beg to differ- as your boss- but qu'est ce que je sais?"
"Rien," he spits. "You know nothing."
I turn to him while using the hand I'm holding to point at him. "You're hiding something. Never have I seen you like this. "
"If that is the case, then maybe it is best for you not to pry, no?"
"I'm supposed to have all of my ducks in a row. Heavy, Medic, and Neuro left for Germany, Pilot and Alpha went to Los Lunas, Engie is on his way to Texas, Soldier's going to Russia, Sniper's in Australia, Pyro and I are joining Demo, Miss Campbell's in Canada, Scout's staying here, and Cashew's going home to Puerto Rico once we finish up... There's just you. What are you doing in Boston, Spy?"
"Sto cercando di fare ammenda, ma verrà a costo della mia dignità, Signorina Fredrickson," he smugly tells. "It would be a surprise if you knew Italian."
"Something about dignity," I huff. He peers at me with curious eyes. "Honor...? No, amends. French, Spanish, and Italian are closely related. I know two of those. You're on thin ice." He turns away and hands me the cigarette back. "Je suis peut-être analphabète, Monsieur Dupont, mais je ne suis pas stupide."
"That you are not." His hand reaches into his jacket to take out another cigarette from his metal tin. I finish the rest of the fingers and stomp out the cigarette butt while tying the bag closed.
"You know how-" The car bounces when I slam the mallet down on a head, "how the Administrator is paranoid about her workers? Well, I feel the heat. You're unaccounted for, and she'd have a fit if she didn't know where you were." Skulls crunch. "And then that'd fall on me. You're acting strange, and I don't like it."
Smoke spills from his mouth as he talks. "Then do not ask questions."
"Ya see, that'd be a lot easier," I side-eye him, "if you didn't steal Scout's contract right from under him." My hammer bounces off of the brain. Sorry, Neuro. "We travel all this way to find out that Madamuchi died. Two days ago."
"Now you are making assumptions."
"The man died with a butterfly knife in his back, Spy, mafia kills aren't constructed like that."
"No comment."
"Ugh," I grunt and stomp to the backseat to put my mallet away and take out a matchbox and a bottle of lighter fluid after I secure the two briefcases full of money and whatever Miss Pauling needed. I pull out the garbage bag, rest it on the wet asphalt, and slam the trunk closed. "Get back in the damn car."
"You're talking to me like I am a boy, and I am not a boy."
This is the same thing that happened on my second day with the team. I stare at him as he's essentially infantilizing himself. "Your ass, in the car, now."
Spy yields and waits until I'm on my way to the garbage can before getting back into the sedan. A small, tiny flame emanates heat, newspapers and cardboard boxes fueling it. This actually looks more like an oil drum. After surrendering the bag into the metal cylinder, I pour lighter fluid all over the contents; the fire growing. I trail it away back toward the car and stop halfway, striking the match on the box and dropping the light on the trail. Orange and yellow runs up and engulfs the can. Job done. Time to deal with Spy.
He doesn't acknowledge me when I get back in. I drive off. Snow driving at night is just as terrifying. What if I spiral out of control? Bostonians don't seem to care as they're still doing seventy on the highway no problem. These people are nuts. "What are you doing in Boston?"
"I have matters to attend to."
"That can cost me my job?"
"No."
"Oh, so only matters that involve you taking Scout's earned money, then?"
His eyes roll. "He can have the money, I have no care for it."
"So then, charity work?"
He grumbles. "I came to meet an old friend."
"And she just so happened to ask you to kill a mafia boss?"
"No, but they were giving her trouble."
I sputter and cackle. "It's the mafia! They give everyone trouble!" I'm losing my patience. "I at least hope your leisure meeting went just fine and dandy so then at least one of us had a positive experience."
"That is what I would like to believe. She was furious that I came. Ashamed. I have never seen her brought to tears in anger. I- I should not have come."
"Great," I sigh. "We both came here for nothing." I turn the radio dial, settling for The Byrds since nothing else was on. I can feel his melancholy. "I'm sorry, Spy."
"It's fine," he frustratedly conveys. "She demands things from me I wish not to entertain." Sounds like Stacy's issues. Suspiciously like Stacy's. Both of them have it rough, but one is swimming financially and the other just emotionally.
"Where's your hotel?"
"Take the next exit and then turn on Cox, making a left of Houghton." If I really look at this, it's highly unlikely he came here to see Stacy. The chances of such are one in ten thousand or some absurd number like that. Boston's so big, big enough to become BosNYWash, so there are countless people that might have the exact same problems. There's always a possibility. I could always just... No, that'd be rude. "Turn into this parking lot."
I flip on my blinker and pull in, picking a spot by the door. I don't have any damning evidence that Spy went to go see Stacy, only a hunch. Womanly intuition has gotten me places, though. Streets are still traffic-ridden, even at eleven at night. When I get back, I'll have to tell Scout and Cashew what happened. They'll either be relieved or angry, depending on how they take it-- What the fuck.
"Oh my God," I gasp, looking at the car next to mine. "Spy, is that yours?"
"Yes," he confirms.
"The Rolls Royce is yours?" I whisper.
"Oui." Oh my God. Lord forgive me, but oh my fucking God.
"You were here to see Scout's mom," I blurt. He snaps his attention to me, surprised eyes as he coughs on cigarette fumes. "And if you were here to--"
"I was not here to see Stacy!" He disputes.
"Here to see her, that means--" My glare could bore holes through iron, "you're Scout's dad."
"Even if I was here to see her, that does not mean I am his father," he argues.
"I've heard you say it before," I whisper. "'Mon petit chou-fleur.' She said you called her a cauliflower. And Scout doesn't know that you're his father?"
"No," he surrenders, slouching in his seat. "I implore you not to tell him."
"Why?" I bark. "Why would you keep that from him?" Discomfort pools at the bottom of my lungs. "You're his dad, Spy. You've been working alongside him for six years and you didn't think to tell him, not even once?"
"I have my reasons, and I do not intend to tell you anything more."
"You're his father," I yell at him as I hit the steering wheel, Spy flinching at my sudden belligerence. "You didn't even think to make up for that? Never once have I seen you be nice to him. You avoid him. You could make up for lost time, and you choose not to."
"I have my reasons," he repeats.
"Well, they're fucking shitty." I unlock the car. "Sors de ma voiture, Connard."
"Do not tell him."
"Are you?" I grip the leather on the wheel.
"When the time is right."
"Bullshit."
He opens the door. "I trust that you will do as I say?"
I glance at him. Scout's father sits next to me. The man who co-created him. Just chilling right next to me and asking me not to tell my teammate that his father, the one he thought walked out on him all those years ago, has been standing next to him for six years. And has done nothing about it. How does this even happen? The chances of such are astronomical. Stacy said he doesn't want to meet him, either, although he already has. Stacy's been keeping it a secret all this time, too. It feels like everyone is against Scout right now. I don't want to keep it from him; he doesn't deserve that. If someone knew where my parents went, I'd want them to tell me.
"Does anyone else on the team know?"
"Sniper."
I scoff. "Of course Sniper knows. And they say they're best friends?"
"Madame," he turns away from me. "There are many complex inner-workings of these team that you do not know about. Many things that we keep from you and will continue to keep from you."
"Why?" Rage makes my knuckles white.
"Because you do not possess the right to know!" He bites back at me, getting hostile and sarcastic as he closes the door again. "You are but a mere outsider. Despite what everyone tells you and wants you to think, you are still not a part of this team. You live with us and give us work, you're nothing more than an inferior Miss Pauling." His cigarette drops ashes as his teeth clamp down on the filter. "Even then, Miss Pauling would keep her mouth shut if I asked her to. So do me a favor, Complice, and keep your gaping mouth shut."
I chuckle. "Like father, like son. Now I know where his temper comes from."
"Burn in Hell." He gets out.
"Okay, you, too, goodnight." He slams the door, and I back out, leaving and getting back on the highway. I'm trying to keep it together. Spy is Scout's father. Scout is Spy's son. There's nothing more shitty than being caught in the middle. I just had to keep digging, I couldn't just mind my own business. Then I wouldn't know, and he wouldn't have said those things. Did he mean them? I'd like to think he didn't mean them. Whenever he opens his mouth to speak, he's praising me or saying something to be supportive, never has he been this way to me. He's just angry. He didn't actually mean it.
The street lights illuminate the interior of the car in waves. The street is more wet than snowy, and I can deal with rain. He didn't mean it.
I should call the fort when I get back to my room, just to check in on Salvador and Demo. Engie might've left already for Texas if he wants to get there in the morning. Demo doesn't drive, so I'd have to get them there if Engie didn't drop them off already. Maybe no one's left at the fort. I hope someone's there. I hope Engie's there. Spy didn't mean what he said, did he?
Does Engie even really like me? No, he does. Then he wouldn't have gone out of his way to have me meet his family when we could've gone straight to the job. He wouldn't have cared at all when I told him I was shot or when I said I should be dead. Then again, Spy also looked concerned, so maybe it was a guilt thing. Engie only said he thinks, not that he knows for certain. I hope it's for certain. My nose gets stuffy and my tear ducts swell. What if Engie's only being nice to me, only because of what happened to Salvador? He shouldn't love me, anyway. What if it was just a little friend crush? I'm just a female in close proximity of him daily and he's feeling that way because of the circumstances, not because he genuinely values what I give as a person. It's nothing. I give nothing. I give papers and nuance. Spy's right, I'm not part of the team. If he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have said it.
We're not friends, none of us are friends. Our relationships are fleeting, and they don't run deeper than skin. They all pity me enough for not even being able to do my fucking job, so the fact that I can't even support my family makes it worse. Sniper thinks I'm worthless because I can't have kids, and Engie would spit on me if I told him about that. The man wants kids, and he'd just pretend I never existed if I told him. Seeing how he treats his niece and nephew, he'd detest me. He was right, we should've blamed it on the alcohol. I shouldn't have kissed him again, I shouldn't have done that to myself. They aren't my teammates. I just live with these men and give them a hard time now and again because of my incompetence. Miss Pauling would think I'm being irrationally stupid right now. That I'm just being a giant baby about it, and that I need to suck it up if I want to keep this job and my life. At least they don't call her a lesser anybody. He didn't have to be so mean about it, though.
Lights blur, and everything gets a hazy white glare on it. The parking lot to the motel is quiet, the sign flickers from a faulty bulb. In pure darkness, everything ruminates. I just cause problems all the time. I create them for myself as much as I do for everyone else around me. I grab my purse before opening the back door to get the briefcases. A black woman sits in the back of my car, legs folded with a hood over her head. I grumble as I close the door. I can't deal with it tonight.
She gets out. "Your name is Fredrickson, correct?"
I huff. "Great, now I have cred in Massachusetts, too."
"You don't," she murmurs, but I think I've heard her voice from somewhere before. She has an accent, but it's not state-side. It's definitely African. "I need your help."
"With what?"
"I can't talk about it here," she shies away and takes a few steps back before cautiously stepping up to me with a hand reached out. "I know you're preparing for the holidays, but I'd appreciate it if you could help me, Kamico."
"Uh--" Hearing her say my name clicked in my head. "Aren't you-- Siti?"
"Shh," she puts a finger to her mouth. "It's been a while, girl, hasn't it?"
"Uh, yes, I haven't forgotten about you, Siti. Where have you been?"
"Places," she's anxious. "Please, take it. Haraka, hakuna wakati mwingi." I grab the paper from her. It's a phone number. "That's where you can find me.."
"Siti, are you in danger?" I step closer to her, but she takes five more back.
"Yes," she sniffs. "But it can wait. I'm in hiding here right now with Adonebi and Uba. Call me when you get the chance, Coco, please."
"Siti," I call her back. "Sis, just tell me what's going on."
She shakes her head. "I can't. Mm-mmm, not right now. It's not safe. Ninaogopa."
"You can tell me, anything," I pant, but she's already off. "Kaa salama."
It keeps getting worse all the time. The hallways are barren and smell of desperation. The carpet is pressed into itself and might be the source of the smell.
Scout's ranting and raving behind closed doors, so I knock just to see if I can cause any more problems on purpose tonight. He stops talking, and Cashew opens to door, Scout almost in tears himself as he sits on his bed oozing frustration. Cashew frowns at me. "What's wrong?"
"Noth-Nothing." Maybe if I do what Spy says, he won't say anything like that again. If he got that way because I was simply thinking about telling him, how would he get if I actually told him? I don't want to find out. "What's with him?"
"Uh, we--"
"Shut the hell up, Cassius," Scout inhales through his mouth and crosses his arms. "Don't say shit about nothin'."
"Okay then," I utter. "We're flying back at three in the morning. I have the money, we can sort it when we get back. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Accomplice," Cashew quietly offers as he closes the door. I unlock my door and don't bother turning on the lights, sinking to the floor with my back to the door. Fuck everything, man. It hurts so bad. Why does it hurt so much? Stop being a baby about it.
I get up and flick the lights on, throwing my purse onto my bed, shoving the briefcases under my mattress, and opening my suitcase to get out some clothes. Getting into the shower is nice. The hot water is like comfort and an all-around hug. Holding myself makes it better. I don't want to get out because it's cold outside, but the warmth will run out soon. I look at myself in the mirror and then my stomach scars, then to the itty-bitty divots on my arms, ending by looking at my thumbnail that's started to grow back. I wake up every morning by the gracious grace of God, and I make it everyone's problem. Sweatpants and a bra, that's all I have the energy to put on. I turn the air conditioning unit to warm and sit on my bed, staring at the bathroom door across from me. The clock on my nightstand reads eleven-forty-five. They're two hours behind, so it'd be nine instead. It wouldn't hurt to try. I pull my purse close to me from the foot of the bed.
My thumbs carefully tap the number keypad. I'd just be bothering him. He needs to go back home, and it'd just be a delay.
'You wouldn't be botherin' me, dear.'
I smile. Hearing him call me dear, even if it's just in my head, makes it hurt less. It shouldn't. I still want to hear him say it. The phone line trills. Please pick up. "Dell Conagher, engineeri--"
"Hi, Engie," I cut him off, sounding probably too excited. "Hey, h-hi. I hope I'm not... Am I bothering you?"
"You could never bother me, Accomplice," he starts, smooth and sweet. "Everythin' alright?"
"Yes and no."
"More yes or more no?"
The corners of my lips turn upward. "More yes now." I rub my eyes. "I love you, Engie."
"Well, I just so happen to love ya, too, dear."