SOMETIME LATER, I woke up in the Home Office's medical department to find a doctor bandaging my arm. The doc was obviously a relative, what with the red hair, green eyes, and judgmental attitude. I looked down at his work.
"Is it bad, doc?" I asked. "Am I going to make it?"
"Yes," he replied, all monosyllabic judgment pouring off of him. Like that ever bothers me.
"Do you think it'll scar?" I continued. "I hope it scars. It'll give me street cred."
"No. I don't think it'll scar. It's just a graze."
"Are you sure? I wanted a scar."
"Yes, I'm sure."
I laid back down. "Whatever. I'm still gonna milk it for all it's worth. My brother shot me, give me stuff." I grinned at him. "It has pathos, right?"
The doctor stared at me like I was a defecating cockroach. "You were lucky it didn't hit a bone or an artery."
"I'm lucky my brother can't shoot for shit." I sat back up. "Hey, you got a lollipop for me?"
"No."
"How about some Percocets, then?"
The doctor signed something on a chart. "No. You don't need Percocets. Take some Alieve, psycho girl."
"I'm in pain, doc. My brother shot me."
"Do you really think that will work?" he asked while he washed his hands.
"Eventually. Are you really not going to give me any pain killers?"
"I'm really not going to give you any pain killers." He tossed his trash into a medical waste trashcan.
"Not even Tylenol 3?"
"Not even Tylenol 3."
"How about Dilaudid?"
"No."
"Morphine?"
"No."
"God, doc," I groaned. "You suck."
He gave me this unimpressed look. "It's not medically necessary, psycho girl."
"Says you." I yawned. "Man, I'm hungry. Is there anything to eat around here?"
"Nope." He walked over to the door and then paused. "So, psycho girl, why'd you'd firebomb your brother?"
I looked at him, all wide eyed. "Firebomb? Whachyou talking about, Willis? I don't know nothing about no firebombing." I batted my eyes at him innocently. "There was an electrical fire, and then Pat shot me."
"Right. I'm sure that's what happened because it makes complete sense," he replied in a tone so dry it made me thirsty.
"It's my story and I'm sticking to it."
"You're such a McIver," he sighed and opened the door. "You know you have to stay here until they decide what to do with you."
"I figured. Hey, can I borrow your phone?"
"No," said the doctor as he pulled his phone from his jacket and placed it on a counter. "You most certainly may not. I'm always losing the thing, anyway. I set it down and then I can't remember where I set it."
"Phones, man. What are you going to do?"
He gave me a small smile. "Good luck, psycho girl. I hope the whole my brother shot me thing works out for you." He started walking out.
"Hey doc. Are the girls okay?"
He paused, turned back to me, then looked down, unable to meet my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered and walked out the door.
"Yeah, who's the McIver now?" I shouted. "Liar, liar, pants on fire." I jumped off the examining table and tried the door. Locked, of course. Like they would leave it unlocked.
So I made use of my time by calling my soon to be boyfriend Agent Donnelly. This time I asked for Special Agent Jason Donnelly. I was immediately patched through.
"McIver. Look at you calling me twice in one day. I feel like our relationship is finally moving forward."
"It's moving somewhere, Agent. Listen, I just have a few questions of law to ask you."
"I'm flattered. How can I help?"
"I just want to be clear. It's still illegal to transport minors across state lines for the purpose of unlawful sexual intercourse, correct?"
A long pause. "It sure is."
"And that's a federal matter, right? It falls under your jurisdiction?"
"It does."
"So, hypothetically speaking, of course, let's say there was this guy, maybe Russian, maybe Albanian, I don't know, and let's say he looked like a pirate, with long curly black hair, narrow face, blue eyes, goatee, and prison tattoos." I paused for a second. "You with me, Agent?"
"I'm listening."
"Let's just say that this pirate dude was in the company of five girls, all of whom appear to be minors, and that this man and these five girls would be leaving or have left the McIver Group Home Office, located in McIver, Iowa, in the past hour. Would the FBI be interested in this kind of information? Keep in mind, I'm only asking for future reference."
I could hear him tapping on a keyboard. "Hypothetically speaking, I would certainly find that information interesting," he replied. "I'm particularly interested in the hypothetical Russian you described. That brings to mind a hypothetical somebody. If I were to hypothetically text you a picture, can you pull it up? Hypothetically speaking, of course."
"Should the occasion ever come up that I would need to hypothetically look at the picture of this hypothetical Russian, then, yes, I could pull it up on this phone."
The phone chimed a text and I opened it. There he was; the pirate, in a glossy color booking picture. In this picture he was wearing a smirk and had his hair pulled back into a pony tail.
"I'm not saying it's him," I stated emphatically. "I'm saying that somebody who very strongly resembles him may have left the McIver Group Home Office in the company of five minors."
"So let me see if I can get what you are not saying. You are not saying that Nicolae Constantinov was at the McIver Group Home Office in the company of minor girls?"
"That's correct, Agent. I am absolutely not saying that. In fact, I'm so not saying anything like that, Special Agent Donnelly, that I'm insulted that you even think that I would say anything like that."
"I deeply apologize."
"You should know that I was just calling because I was wondering about the status of the law, that's all. Jeez. You take everything so literally."
"It's a flaw."
"You better get busy, Agent, not acting on any tip I did not give you." With that I hung up.
I stared at the phone and then dialed Alex's number.
"Cosetino Shipping," answered his receptionist.
"Alexander Cosetino, please."
"He's in a meeting. Would you like his voicemail?"
"I would like you to put him on. Tell him it's Siobhan McIver."
"He's not to be disturbed, Miss McIver." Her tone could have froze ice. "I will put you through to his voice mail."
"Tell him I got shot."
A long pause. "Hold, please."
A moment later, Alex answered, "What do you mean you got shot?"
"Hi Alex. Patrick shot me."
"Are you alright?"
"No. I got shot."
He sighed. "Be serious, Siobhan. Are you alright?"
"No, Alex. I'm not. Patrick shot my arm. It hurts and the doctor won't give me painkillers."
"Are you actively bleeding?"
I looked at my arm. "No. But it hurts."
"Hang on for a second." I heard him tell somebody something which was followed by the sound of a closing door. "Where are you?"
"The Home Office. Alex, I'm going to need you to kill Patrick."
"I'll consider it. I don't like him shooting you."
"I don't either," I sniffed. "My arm really hurts, Alex, and I'm hungry."
"You're going to play this up, aren't you?"
"Duh. My brother shot me," I whimpered. "I'm dealing with pain and suffering here."
"I can tell." I heard some more tapping. "So why'd he shoot you?"
"It's complicated."
"I'm sure it is." He paused. "The plane's being fueled. 'll be there in a few hours. Don't go anywhere."
"I can't go anywhere. I've been falsely imprisoned. Hey, could you call Aidan and tell him to get me a pizza?"
"No. Be good. I love you."
I always felt kind of squiggly when he said I love you. "I love you too," I mumbled and hung up. I did love Alex. Sometimes. I don't know. It was confusing.
Next I called the police and told them I was being falsely imprisoned after being shot for breaking up an illegal human trafficking ring, but it turned out that the cop who answered was a relative. He already knew to expect a call from me and basically told me to sit down and shut up. A few minutes after that, Corporate Security came in and confiscated my phone. While I wasn't surprised, I was irritated.
Another couple hours passed. My arm was finally beginning to throb, I had to pee, and I had a weird craving for a grape popsicle. I tried kicking the door a couple of times while I shouted the elements to common law false imprisonment, but it did no good. I was starting to get nervous. Waiting was never a good sign. I paced for a while, then I curled up on the exam table and drifted in and out of sleep.
"Cousin Siobhan." Robert McIver, head of Corporate Security, stood beside me with an amused expression on his face. "Wakey, wakey."
I sat up, stretched, and yawned. "Cousin Bob. My favorite corporate stooge. Where am I going? Jail or upstairs?"
"Neither. We're putting you up for the night."
I jumped off the table. "I'm hungry and I got to pee."
"You can eat and pee when we get to where you're going," he answered, waving me out the door. "Come along, pyro."
"Corporate nazi enforcer," I snapped back. I liked Bob. We had rapport. "Wait. Am I going to the corporate condos?"
"No. They have a strict policy against arsonists," he said as we walked to the garage.
"I'm not an arsonist," I huffed. "I don't even know what you're talking about. Let me use the restroom."
"No."
"You are such a corporate Nazi enforcer."
"You should come home more often, Cousin Siobhan. I haven't been called a corporate Nazi enforcer in eons." He grinned at me affectionately. "You remember when you were going through the whole die, pig, die phase?"
I snapped my finger at him. "Oh yeah! I remember that! It was about the time I set fire to Pat's Alfa Romeo." I smiled at the memory. "He was so pissed. Good times, man. Good times."
"You two." Bob shook his head. "I got to hand it to you, though, you really kicked it up a notch with the whole firebombing thing."
"Firebomb!" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air. "Everybody keeps saying firebomb. I didn't firebomb anybody. It was electrical. Totally electrical."
"If, by electrical, you mean that you hit an outlet with a flaming bottle of vodka you threw at your brother's head, then yes, it was electrical."
I nodded and pointed. "Exactly. That's exactly it."
"There were witnesses this time who said you firebombed it."
"You going to believe a sleazy pimp over me?" I rolled my eyes. "That hurts, Bob. Besides, you know I'm the victim here, right? My brother shot me.
"We all know that Patrick shot you." He was working hard to not smile as he opened the van door for me. "It was, however, after you started firebombing."
"You're splitting hairs," I sighed.
"Get in the van, prisoner."
I grinned at him, climbed inside the van, and squeezed in beside two behemoth Corporate Security dudes."Hi guys. Are you here for little old me? I'm flattered." I turned back to Bob. "Wow. You really think I'm dangerous. That's so sweet."
He winked, slammed the door and then got in the passenger seat.
"So Bob, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being no trouble and 10 being shot at first light, what kind of trouble am I in?"
He looked over his shoulder at me. "Eleven."
_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____
Siobhan's only got a flesh wound, but don't worry. She'll milk it for all it's worth. Plus, the scar will give her street cred. :)
Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!
©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018
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