Chapter 9
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I walk to the window to see a cop car in my driveway. Damn it. How could I have been so reckless with my place and taken in a girl I hadn’t screened prior to planning on marrying her?
I remember ever so clearly that I thought of Sokol and how I aimed to give him a call and screen little Miss Perfect-Tits-and-Ass, but then I kept staring at those tits and ass and the beautiful, quiet, sweet girl who rolled with the punches and wanted a bit of weekend fun.
I forgot all about my safety, the family’s safety, and the entire fucking world.
The sheriff peels out of my driveway, and I memorize his plates.
I run upstairs, throw all my shit into my duffel, and grab my pieces.
The Beretta under the bed, the S&W in the bathroom, the Walther under the third step, etcetera.
I put out the fireplace and call Homer, tell him I’m leaving.
I explain nothing, but tell him to clean up and prep the cabin for showing because I’m selling this bitch.
On my way down, I’m dialing Sokol. He answers on the second ring.
“I need you to run a check on a girl,” I say.
“Good morning, sunshine. How’s winter in Vermont?”
“Cold.”
“Same here.” We live in Chicago.
In the garage, I grab the two .45s I stash there, and the deer food catches my eye.
“Ludi?” Sokol says.
“Yeah.”
“I need a name.”
“Isla Bentley.”
“That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar?”
“It fucking shouldn’t.” It should, actually, since he ran her daddy last month before I got the order.
“I’m detecting personal interest here. You pining for this girl? Oh wait, is that the one the rings are for?”
Fucking Ivana. “Who else knows?”
“Just me. Ivana had me hacking the jeweler’s phone to see what they’re not displaying. Think she found something.”
“Does Nikola know?”
“Not yet, but I’ll tell him when he comes in.”
“Don’t say anything, because it’s personal business.”
“I’m looking at my screen, and it’s definitely his business, Ludi.”
“How so?”
“Gregory Bentley got promoted to sheriff.” Replacing the one I popped. “Great news for Nikola this morning. I’ll give him the bad news first, then the good news. This dude is big. Linebacker size.”
“I know. I met him.”
The line goes silent, and Sokol whispers, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I’m going after her.”
“You crazy? Oh wait, you are crazy. There’s heat on you. Lie low.”
“No can do.”
“I gotta report this.”
“Do what you gotta do, but I’m going after her. You gonna check her out for me or not?”
“I have to clear this with Nikola.”
“Goodbye.”
Sokol shouts, and I hang up, get the food for Studly, and walk to the feeder. As I pack the feeder, I evaluate my options. I went through Isla’s purse and recall the address on her ID card, though I won’t be going back to the small town where I did a job only a two days earlier.
The activity around the former sheriff is fresh. But the day after tomorrow is a Monday, and she’s a student with a student ID, which I also memorized from her wallet. Now I just need to get near the school, and I can’t call for a ride when I’m traveling with a duffel full of weapons.
I dial Mr. Homer.
He picks up almost immediately. “Ludi, hey, my man.”
“Homer, I need a ride.”
“Sure. When?”
“Right now.”
“Um, I’m under your car with the mechanic.”
“Leave the car to the mechanic and come pick me up. And Homer?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
One week later.
I stand at the entrance of a private Catholic all-girl school. The moment I step over the threshold, I feel as if Jesus slapped me upside my head. Campus layout memorized from the background work, I move toward the library.
I have no idea if Isla will be there, but I have some work experience finding people and places they might frequent, and I’m relying on that experience. The paperbacks she dragged to the cabin told me she would have to either buy or borrow them.
And if not for books, she might enjoy a quiet study place, since she hadn’t done any studying during our weekend. I cross the campus looking as if I know where I’m going and as if I belong here, trying not to stand out, which is a bit hard as college girls move in groups past me, giggling.
I drop my ball cap lower over my face, stare at my feet as I climb the library steps, then reach the front desk with a plastic shield before it. In the postpandemic world, we avoid spitting into each other’s faces as much as possible.
The stairs ahead will take me to the upper floors.
I use them instead of the elevators and reach the first floor, where I pause and look at the library sectionals map.
Quiet study. Fourth floor. I turn away from the wall and comb through the first, second, and third floors before concluding she’s not here.
On the fourth floor, after the sweep, I pick up a romance paperback and settle into the corner by the window overlooking the campus’s yard, where Isla should move between buildings as she swaps classrooms. Waiting and watching comes with my profession, though this time, it won’t be fatal for anyone. I sincerely hope.
Hours later, speakers announce the library is closing, and I return the romance novel and head downstairs, where I do another sweep of the floors and bathrooms and almost don’t make it outside before the staff locks up.
I’ll try again tomorrow.