MARÍA POLICE DEPARTMENT, December 24
Twenty minutes of tinkering with a powerbank, a series of relays and a tangled thicket of cables, and Debs's wheelchair was finally equipped with a string of programmable—and fucking annoying—Christmas lights.
"Oh! It looks so awesome, Jay!" Debs did a little wheelchair-donut in the center of the office, her lurid lights bouncing off the walls like we were chilling in the VIP room in La Perla Negra. "How did you get so good at electrical stuff?"
I switched the program from epilepsy mode to constant illumination. "Used to steal cars."
Debs's eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. Her pen lid fell from her slack jaw into her lap. "I keep forgetting you were a..." She fixed her eyes onto the clipboard in front of her.
Thief? Gang member? Murderer? Guessed I'd been spending so much time in María PD offices that everyone kept forgetting I wasn't a cop.
"We should get back to it." Debs slid her pen down the edge of the clipboard, counting under her breath. "Question five. Did you use a condom? Were you at risk of contracting an STI?"
I slid my hands down my face. "Yes, we used condoms. And spermicidal lubricant. And we'd shower before. And—"
"OK OK!" Debs put her hands up like she was warding off a punch. "I'll just check that box."
"Are we done?"
"No. There's a few more questions. Did she threaten you? Or imply that something bad would happen if you didn't—"
"Why couldn't the counselor do this?"
Debs looked up at me like she'd just been slapped. She replied in the tiniest voice, "The counselor went home for the holidays. There's just me. I'm sorry."
I was being a total asshole. Neither of us wanted to be here talking about dark shit on Christmas Eve. "You're doing great, Debs. I just don't think that sexual assault can be added to the list of charges against Mira al Assad."
"Let's just get these questions over with, and leave it to Sylvia to decide, OK?" Debs reached over and nestled her freckled hand into mine. "So, did she ever threaten you?"
"No. We just..." I waved my hands in the air, lost for words, "...got to it."
"So, you didn't give explicit consent."
"I gave consent when I took my clothes off!"
"Jay, you can't give consent if you'll be killed for refusing." Debs squeezed my hand, her clipboard forgotten in her lap. "You know that, right?"
"It wasn't like that." I shook my head. I needed Debs to understand, but I couldn't find the words. "I didn't wanna do it. Didn't wanna be anywhere near her. Didn't wanna touch her. Hated her so fucking much. But, she was different in bed. Like a normal woman. Not like her. I can't explain."
Debs's pen raced across the clipboard in big round loops. It was down to Sylvia to take apart all the shit I'd said and rebuild it into a coherent set of charges. And then everyone in María PD would pore over it. Juries, judges, maybe Leila and her lawyer buddies, maybe the whole of María would take a good fucking look at all the dirty messed-up vile shit I'd done.
My phone began to vibrate across the desk with a call. I eyed the screen with a groan. Leila. Why the fuck was she always calling me?
I silenced the phone, the lock-screen lighting up with a photo of Dante's face. He was caught in a surprised smile, his hair fluttering in a breeze, a gargoyle's pock-marked shoulder behind him. I'd taken the photo near sunset on the clock tower. The sunlight reflecting off Dante's eyes had made them shine bright like stars as he'd gazed at me. Of course, the picture didn't do him justice; only a hundredth of his beauty could ever be captured in photos.
I knew it had to be done, but the thought of deleting all my photos of him had my heart plummeting into Hamish McCloud's cast-off brogues. Maybe in a few weeks' time.
"Hey, Debs. Are you spending Christmas...with Dante?"
"Yeah. Me, Vinnie and Dante always do Christmas together."
"Is he OK?"
Debs let out a tired breath. "No, Jay. He's not OK. He lost Steph, and now you."
But Dante didn't lose me. He escaped me. He dodged a bullet.
"He'll find someone perfect," I whispered, to myself more than to Debs.
"Vinnie keeps saying that too," Debs twisted the tassels of her wheelchair blanket, "but Dante thinks that you were perfect for him."
"Perfect?" I kept my voice low, but it came out like shards of ice all the same. "I tried to kill him."
"I know. Doesn't mean he doesn't miss you. It's like he's grieving again. For you this time." Debs packed up her papers, pretending not to notice as I swatted away tears. "I'll see you in January, Jay. Happy Holidays."
Clad in one of Hamish McCloud's thicker woolen suits to keep out the frost, I locked up the cat-lady's lair and crossed the street toward the Botanic Gardens. The number of times I thought I'd hit rock bottom over the past four years. Hadn't even been fucking close. This was a new low.
I'd called Rayan to see if he had time for a coffee before his flight. No answer. He'd probably overslept and was doing some frantic last-minute packing. I'd called Robby to see if he wanted an evening of pollo guisado and shitty Christmas movies. No answer. He was probably with Jade, waiting for Santa to come down the chimney. Or tear through the drywall, or whatever Santa did these days.
Totally fucking desperate, I'd called Leila. And of course she was free, and of course she and Yves would love for me to spend Christmas with them, and of course it wasn't any trouble, and of course they couldn't wait to see me.
I'd been pretty fucking impressed to see that Leila's apartment wasn't a penthouse somewhere in the Financial District, or a mansion on Huertas Island. She and Yves lived in one of a long row of unobtrusive Ángel brownstones opposite the Botanic Garden.
A wizened concierge buzzed me up. Leila greeted me at the door with a smile. I'd been a nervous panicking mess all the way to the apartment, but seeing a familiar face again somehow fixed everything. In fact, all my nerves were washed away by Leila's smile. She looking so fucking...radiant, like she had done at Casper Vogel's fundraiser. Like some kinda glowing goddess. I took in all of her.
Oh. So, that's why she looked totally fucking amazing.
Leila had a baby-bump. A truly enormous baby-bump. Like a we-seriously-needed-to-call-the-fucking-hospital baby-bump.
"When's...when's it due?" I managed to stammer out. "Mashallah."
"Any day now." A beatific smile lit up her face as she ran a hand over the bump. She led me by the hand into the apartment. "Sylvia told me your Mom died. Wallah, I've been calling and calling. I was so worried about you."
How fucking stupid was I? All the weeks of being convinced that Leila wanted to get back with me, stressing that she was gonna make Dante jealous, or otherwise fuck things up somehow. She'd just been worried about me. And she was gonna have a baby! How awesome was that?
I was prodded onto a printed sofa that backed onto a wall stacked to the ceiling with books. A pot of sweet tea, a plate of cookies, and Yves Faisant materialized outta nowhere.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Jason." Yves captured my hand and shook it like a man possessed, as if his life depended on convincing me of his grip strength. "Leila and Sylvia have told me so much about you."
No strained conversations about the cold weather or Christmas traffic, Yves seemed like your average rich white dude who did not give a fuck about sharing his sofa with his wife's big ole Boricua ex-boyfriend. He switched on ESPN and we tossed cookies into our mouths and lamented the María Warriors' terrible performance while Leila smiled on, her hand occasionally snaking over to Yves's knee for a squeeze. Phonecall after phonecall interrupted Yves's TV-watching and he eventually trudged to his office muttering curses in French, leaving Leila and me alone.
"You good friends with Sylvia Payne?"
"No." Leila nibbled the edge of a cookie. "Some of her cases get referred to my office. She said you were one of her witnesses. She sounded so worried about you."
I had no doubt that Sylvia was capable of sounding like whatever the fuck she wanted. OK, maybe these days Sylvia was the tiniest bit worried about me. She had to keep her cat-feeder safe and healthy after all.
"I'm sorry I took so long to call you. I've been kinda..."
"Hey, I understand. You're grieving. I just wanted to know you were OK."
"I was so nervous coming here today. Stupid, really." I managed a smile. The first one since Dante. "Thought Yves would hate me. I thought...I don't know what I thought."
"He wasn't delighted with the idea of you visiting. But you lost your Mom. Yves is always so busy. He's not ignoring you. He's—"
"You don't have to convince me of anything. I know he's a good guy. And I know that you two are totally into each other. I'm glad I came."
I was glad. Robby was with his family. Rayan was with his. Mamá was gone. Dante was gone. All I had left was Leila.
"How about you, Jay?" Leila reached over and patted my hand. "Is there a special someone in your life?"
"There's...there was a man. But it's over." I fished my phone outta my pocket and held it aloft. "Well, it never really started."
"Ya rab, Jay!" Leila stared at my lock-screen. The photo of a windswept and startled Dante on the clock tower stared back.
"I know." I slid the phone away. "Beautiful, isn't he?"
"He's like a supermodel, mashallah." She nudged me in the shoulder. "Well done!"
"It's not all about his looks. He's so smart, Leila. And so kind. He's perfect."
"Why didn't it work out?"
"I did something terrible. We can't be together."
"Ya haraam. Maybe he'll forgive you."
A sad little chuckle escaped my lips. "He has forgiven me, a few times. Still, what I did was too bad for us to stay together."
Leila's eyebrows twisted. "So you left him, even though he forgave you?"
"It's complicated." I leaned back against the sofa, marveling how easily yet another Christmas conversation had somehow become about Dante. "Besides, he's a police officer. He shouldn't be with someone like me."
"Someone like you," giggled Leila.
"What?"
"Come on, Jay. You're just someone who did bad things, made mistakes. You're trying to do what's right."
Easy for her to say. She didn't know how many Saudi henchmen I'd killed in cold blood. She didn't know how I stabbed the man I loved in the heart. Broke his heart valve. Fucked up his heartbeat forever.
"Dante should be with someone amazing," I muttered.
"You are amazing, mashallah."
Couldn't help sniggering. "You talking about my hair, or me?"
Leila swatted me away with a grin. "I did love your hair."
"And my bike."
"Those weren't the only things I liked about you."
"It's OK, Leila." I raised my arms in defeat. "I knew we couldn't. Your parents, and college, and...everything. I wasn't expecting us to be forever. I just...hoped."
"I'm sorry."
"Listen, it was years ago. I'm happy I had my time with you. Guys like me gotta count our blessings."
Leila shook her head, laughter tinkling out of her. "There you go again."
"What?"
"Guys like you. You ever looked in a mirror Jay? I mean really looked?"
"Is this about my hair again?"
"You always say that stuff about yourself. But it's not about your hair. Or your motorcycle. Or those Valentino suits that Rocco Genovese made you wear. Or that stupid badboy stuff you do. It's about you, Jay. Your heart is right there, for everyone to take. You always give every part of you." She sat up, one hand to her back and the other rubbing at her belly. "It's why I liked you so much even though I knew I couldn't stay with you. It's why Rocco Genovese treats you like his own son. You're just you, Jay. And you're good. Your handsome police officer knows that. That's why he forgives you even though you can't forgive yourself. Don't let someone like that go."
"I have to let him go. I'm trying to do what's best for him."
"You're punishing yourself and him because of what you did. Can't you see that's not what's best for him?"
I hadn't thought about that. I knew Dante was suffering, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that in time he'd find someone wonderful. But what if he didn't? What if I coulda been there all that time, taking care of him, even if I was the person who least deserved to?
Leila stiffened, her hand over her belly. I sprang toward her and let her lean on my arm. She shuffled forward with a groan.
Yves raced into the living room, his phone clattering to the floor next to him. "Mon coeur!"
"It's OK!" Leila giggled, waving Yves and me away. Couldn't tell if her face was scrunched in pain or joy. "She's just kicking...a lot."
"You're having a girl?"
"Yeah. Feel here." Leila dragged my hand to her belly. Under the thin cotton of Leila's dress, I felt a ripple against my hand. Another. A third, stronger than the last. Baby-girl was kicking the shit outta Leila. It was fucking awesome.
"She's partying in there, Leila. I can feel it."
Yves kissed Leila's head then scrambled across the tiles after his phone. "You want to be a father some day, Jason?"
Leila ruffled my hair, then hissed in pain as baby-girl gave another almighty kick. She was gonna be an awesome soccer Little-Leaguer. "You would be a great dad, Jay!"
I shook my head, my eyes almost popping out on their stalks at the thought of the myriad ways I could possibly fuck up fatherhood. At least my Dad had had the sense to only fuck my life up that one time, when he left me. "Maybe I coulda imagined being a Dad with Dante, my ex. But not now."
Leila relaxed, crumpling back onto the sofa. "She's calmed down now."
Yves cooed and sang to baby-girl through Leila's belly, a crooked smile on his face as strange French lullabies rumbled outta his mouth.
My phone buzzed. God damnit.
Sylvia Fucking Payne. Wasn't she supposed to be in Havana?
Her screeching was so fucking loud I had to hold the phone a foot away from my head. "Jason, thank God! They took Rayan! We have to get him back! We got it all wrong! That's what Zaki was really here for! We have to get him back! That's what she wanted! We were wrong! We have to get him back!"
"Sylvia, woah! Calm down! What the fuck are you saying? Has Zaki escaped?"
"Yes! Rocco Genovese is dead! Zaki escaped! Rayan didn't come back from his run this morning! Zaki must have taken Rayan!"
No.
No fucking way.
Zaki was gonna pay. If he'd so much as touched Rayan, Zaki was gonna fucking die by my hand.
"I'm coming. Where do I meet—"
My words were cut off by a wail so loud that my phone speakers crackled. Vinnie Russo's wail. The same terrified wail as when he'd seen my Alcor tattoo. A wail of total fucking despair.
"Tell him to find Dante!" Vinnie was screaming at Sylvia, his voice raw and broken with tears. "Tell him to get Dante back!"
Dante?
My heart withered and died in my chest.
I tried to suck in a breath but everything inside me was locked.
Dante.
"Where's Dante? What the fuck is going on, Sylvia?"
Sylvia's voice wavered with panic. "I told Dante that Rayan went missing this morning. Vinnie hasn't seen Dante since. Nobody has. We think he might be on his way to Riyadh to save Rayan."
No. Dante didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know her.
She'd kill him, painfully. If she found out he was Steph's fiancé, she might even make a warning kill out of it. I didn't wanna think what Rayan's punishment would be for running away from her as a kid.
Didn't even have to make a plan.
Didn't even have to clear it with Sylvia.
I was going to Riyadh. I was gonna get Dante and Rayan back.
Forget closing down Alcor. Forget their youth-serum tech. All I wanted was my baby bro and my boyfriend back safe, not a single hair on their heads touched by her venom. If she so much as breathed on them, I'd kill her. I'd hunt her down and I'd gut her with a kris, like I shoulda done every time I'd sparred with her and bedded her. "I'm coming to María PD. Stay there."
"No." Sylvia's voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll give you GPS coordinates. Make sure nobody follows you."
I dragged on my jacket, Yves and Leila pushing me out the door, their faces hung with twin looks of horror. "Where am I meeting you?"
Sylvia took a breath, her rock-solid voice returning, like talking to me was giving her hope. "We need backup, Jason. A lot of backup. You're coming to meet my fiancé."
Translations
Pollo guisado - Spanish, chicken stew popular in Puerto Rico and around the Caribbean
Mashallah - Arabic, expression of joy, giving a compliment without jealousy, equivalent to knocking on wood in UK/American culture
Wallah - Arabic, "I swear to God"
Ya rab - Arabic, "Oh my God"
Ya haraam - Arabic, expression of sympathy, kind of like "oh you poor thing"
Mon coeur - French, "my heart" (similar to "my darling" or "my dear")