Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
I needed this meetup to get the fuck out of this rut and talk to someone. Even if it means hearing something I’m not going to like.
“Let’s start with the easiest.”
“You have a tail. Hired by Lapour,” he says, and his sentences are short, clipped. I nod my head. I figured as much. I’ve been scoping James out and James is doing the same in return.
“The cops are coming around your place more often too and they’ve been poking around your family home, looking through the garbage. A few tags on the station’s search engine too.”
“They’re not going to give up, are they?” It’s not really a question. The leather of the seat groans as I lay my head back.
“They just need one thing to pin it on you.”
“James has the evidence they’d need to do it.” The photos come to mind and anxiousness makes my chest tighten. I’m waking up to heart palpitations and I’m constantly exhausted, but not able to sleep. My right leg rocks from side to side as Mason speaks.
“We can wipe them from his computer, but the hard copies will have to wait until tomorrow. My associate will ensure the place is clean, but then he’ll know.”
“That works. Whatever it costs.”
“It takes time to get a batch of drugs that matches,” Mason says and I know it’s not about the money. It’s about the time and executing it correctly.
“It would have been easier if we’d found it on him,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, it would have,” he agrees and then it’s quiet.
“I’m failing. All this money paying other people to do shit and we’re coming up empty.”
“You’re doing everything you can.”
I can’t stand the waiting anymore. “I want this over with,” I confide in him. A couple days turned into a week. And now the weeks are bleeding into one another.
“I’m walking around this city,” I tell him, “stalking a man who should be dead. I need to do something.” It’s killing me to wait, driving me fucking crazy. I can practically feel my sanity slipping away.
“You have to be careful when you … take care of someone,” he says as if I’m being impatient. “If you’re reckless, you get caught.
“Besides, I don’t have anything on James. Not a shred of evidence that shows he purchased the fentanyl.”
“We need evidence or to set him up if there isn’t any. Or we can just murder him and end it all.” The thought has been festering in the back of my skull. Picking away at me. I just want to kill the fucker and be done with this.
“You kill him before it’s ready, and the cops will be looking for his murderer. Is that what you want?”
I know he’s right, and I can’t answer. I respond with the only thing that matters. “I need my wife back.”
“That’s the other thing,” he tells me while looking out his window.
“What thing?” I question, a deep groove settling down the center of my brow as I stare at the back of his head, willing him to look at me. “About my wife?”
“She’s seeing someone,” he answers and it’s like white noise.
“You’re wrong.” Time slows. She isn’t. There’s no way she’s seeing someone.
“She went out yesterday and we kept an eye on her like I promised you we would. My guys saw some things.”
That’s when a man’s face comes back to me. My hands clench into tight fists at my side as I shake my head. Jacob whatever the fuck his last name is. My breathing comes in ragged pants as he says, “Jacob Scott is his name. A potential client of hers.”
“Not my wife,” I say, biting out the words although I already know it’s true. “She’s not going to move on so fast.”
The worst part is that I don’t even blame her. I’m dying inside. Every night I think about how my father should still be here and my wife should be in bed with me. Instead I’m alone, clutching a fucking T-shirt Pops always wore. He gave it to me when he gained a little weight and it didn’t fit him any longer. It’s just a shirt from a shop he used to work at. The shop’s not around anymore.
I didn’t give a shit about it back then, it was just a shirt, but all I can see when I hold it now is him. It’s funny how the little things that don’t matter are the most sentimental when you lose the ones you love.
That’s my life. Hiding away and mourning my father alone. Hating myself and not being able to fix it all. I can’t fix a damn thing.
“I told you she wasn’t doing well,” Mason says like I should have known better.
My teeth grind against each other as I seethe. “I can’t do both at the same time, lead her on that we’re broken up, but also be there for her.” Pounding my fist against the window once like a madman, I hold on to the anger. I’ll prolong every other emotion I can until I’m forced to deal with it at night when sleep refuses to comfort me. I know I must look like I’m fucking unhinged, but I am. So, I suppose it’s fitting. “I can’t protect her and have her in my life at the same time. There’s no way for me to do it!” Exasperation gets the better of me.