Chapter Forty-Two #2
I won’t allow him to get away this time. Even if I don’t understand it, even knowing it’ll likely end in death or calamity, or both… I will not let him fly away again. Because he is mine.
Love makes you weak…
It will be your ultimate ruin.
The satellite phone on my desk rings, startling me out of my restless reflection.
Clearing my throat, I pick it up. “Si?”
“I have Tomas,” Yari says, and I hum out of relief.
“Good. Put him through.”
I’m fiddling with my pen as the young man greets me over the line, sounding far away, since it’s a satellite phone and all.
“Jefe,” Tomas grunts, and I can tell from his tone in that one word this will not be a celebratory, yay we did it, call. “So… there’s really no easy way to say this…”
Called it.
“There is,” I grumble, instantly impatient and irritable. “It’s called just spitting it the fuck out.”
He’s still quiet for a moment, and my eyes fall shut, teeth clamping in severe exasperation for all of the ever-blazing incompetence around me.
I wanna be done.
I just want to see my Angel.
Fuck all of this other noise.
“Well, the thing is that we’ve been trying. I mean, really trying hard. I’ve made over a dozen calls, I’ve personally spent hours upon hours trying to get into it and I just can’t seem to… I’m just saying, whoever designed the thing is—”
I growl over his floundering, “Are you telling me that some of the best hackers in the world are unable to figure out a PalmPilot made of trash that was whipped together by a twenty-year-old gamer from Thousand Oaks in prison? Is that what you’re telling me right now??”
He goes quiet again. I’m seriously about to throw this phone.
“It’s sort of ingenious, if I’m being honest,” he mumbles.
And now he’s fanboying. Lovely.
“Impenetrable,” I roar. “That’s what you’re saying, si? You can’t get into it?? Because I was assured of your abilities, Tomasito. Lying on your resume isn’t the sort of thing you want to do with me as el jefe…”
“N-no, sir, I’m not saying that,” he’s panicking. I pout. “I can get into it, I swear I can! I just need some more time—”
“Time’s up, Mr. Robot,” I snarl. “I want into that device now. If the problem is that you’re distracted, I have ways of managing that.”
“H-huh…?”
“I’ll send you some supervision.” I straighten in my seat. “Maybe that’ll help keep you motivated.”
I hang up while he’s still talking, immediately dialing Yari.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Have Max send some guys to Tomas’s house. Wherever he is… find him. Tell them to sit on him until he understands the severity of this job he swore up and down he could complete.”
“You got it,” Yari confirms, and I have to momentarily appreciate the one damn person in my life who understands the concept of doing his fucking job.
He and Kent are it, I swear. The only ones who aren’t complete morons.
It’s so hard to find good help these days…
My mind spins back into the red, and I have to compose myself before I blow a goddamn gasket.
Woo-sah…
Inhale, exhale.
“Anything else?” Yari asks, distracting me from the rage about to swallow me up.
“You’ve set everything up for tonight?” I climb back up to the positive side of things, rather than the aspects of this job that will have me slicing people open at the middle.
In due time…
“Yup. All good,” Yari chirps. “Chrystine is working on the menu now. Theater is set up. Everyone’s been instructed to stay left.”
I can hear the glee in his voice, which quirks my lips. And rolls my eyes, because it’s not a goddamn rom-com.
So I’m going on a date… what’s the big deal?
Stranger things have happened, I’m sure.
“Bueno… Nice work, Yari.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and my gaze narrows.
“Did you want me or Kent to… get them for you?”
“Nice try,” I grunt, and he huffs into the phone.
“I’m sorry, I’m just dying to meet the famous Angel,” he sort of squeals.
I chuckle, but force an immediate scowl and clear my throat. “That’s enough. Don’t make me cut off your cell service.”
“Lo siento! Sorry sorry,” he rushes. “That won’t be necessary, sir. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
“Yea, send Kent up here, please,” I command.
“Ten-four.”
Only ten minutes later, there’s a knock at my door, indicative of my right-hand man.
“Come in.”
Kent stalks inside, posting up in front of my desk.
I do love this guy. Such a pro.
Leaning back in my chair, I ask, “What do you have for me?”
“We have a few leads on Dascha, but still nothing concrete,” he tells me. “My guys at border control are confident—”
“Confidence hasn’t done jack shit for me up to this point,” I grunt. “What else?”
“Russo has some campaigning to do, so he’ll be busy for at least a week.”
I nod.
“That footage you were asking about is secure,” he adds firmly, and my eyes jump.
“Good…”
“Should anything… happen with Russo, it’ll be sent out to the appropriate parties.”
My lips twitch, but I control it. “Perfect.” I cock a brow. “And The Carver?”
He makes a face I can read as severe annoyance, though it’s barely anything. “He’s a fucking phantom. Seriously, it’s baffling.”
A small puff of amusement breaks from my lips. “A truly dangerous person has no concern for their own life, but will stop at nothing to stay alive for someone else.”
These words swirl in my mind for a moment, while I imagine little Felix Darcey, out there in the forest… waiting.
“The kid is dedicated, I’ll give him that,” I sigh, shaking it off. “Find him. If not, then we lure him out.”
Kent’s head tilts in question.
“I have a plan that might draw him out of hiding. It’ll involve Johansson and Hassan, so make sure they have everything they’ll need to set up a makeshift East Wing in the tombs.”
He nods. “Speaking of, 62 and 102 seem to have moved again…” My gaze narrows. “They’re staying in the third-floor living room now.”
I scoff. “Yea, I assume 62 is feeling pretty glum after his meeting at the prison. More or less exactly what I expected…”
I remember the way things had been going with Byron and Trevel, leading up to the fall. Really, it worked out splendidly. My poor shadow pet… Always seeking his Michelangelo proxy.
I knew Trevel Fenwick would be the perfect distraction for him; someone to finally remove him from permanent third-wheel status with Lexington Deon and his firestarter. Byron and Trevel hit it off better, and faster, than I anticipated.
I’m no matchmaker, we’ve established this.
But there was always something about Byron Kang that stuck in my chest. Maybe it was knowing with unequivocal certainty that he has never belonged here, and seeing how utterly sad that made him was like a rain cloud that followed him around everywhere.
I guess you could say I took him on as something of a pet project.
One of many.
I’m still not even sure why I gave him that journal. It just felt like something that could help… He was clearly so bustling with secrets, begging to unload them somewhere; to unburden himself on someone who could handle it.
Trevel Fenwick happened to show up at the exact right moment. So even knowing he’d also been delivered here for unnecessary reasons, keeping him was inevitable. For me, as a thorn in Lemuel’s side, but more importantly, as someone to finally be here for Byron Kang.
Sending 62 to the prison was a gamble, but in truth, I knew how it would go down. Jonathan has tunnel-vision right now, and it’s aimed right at me. His anger and desire to make me suffer are clouding his judgment.
It’s good. It means it’ll be easier to back him into a corner.
If he were smart, he would have used Byron just like everyone else does. But instead, he turned his back on him.
That leaves #62’s allegiance right here, with 102. And with me.
If there’s one thing I didn’t expect, it was losing Luthor and Ren…
I’ve had all eyes out, search parties, the works. There’s no evidence that they made it out alive. But there’s no evidence that they didn’t either, so it’s a bit of a mystery at the moment.
I hate mysteries. Solve the puzzle, close the case.
It seems highly implausible that they survived, and it’s most likely that their bodies are at the bottom of the ocean, being eaten by sea creatures. But that hasn’t been confirmed.
Still, it’s best that Byron Kang believes they’re dead. For all of us.
“Keep an eye on them,” I tell Kent. “We’re pushing south again soon, so we’ll see what that yields.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What about Angelito’s sister…?” I ask hesitantly.
I’m nervous about this more than anything.
We’d had eyes on Avianna before the fall, but we lost her over the summer.
Then there was that span of roughly twelve hours when I was certain she was the intruder—the mysterious female lurking in the prison, who I’d been told left, only to find out she was actually in the Tomb in the East Wing.
But of course, that turned out not to be the case…
“We think she’s still in Vegas,” Kent says. “I’m working all the connections out there. We’ll find her.”
How is it that all of these little shits are suddenly so evasive?? I swear to God, I’ve never had so much trouble keeping track of people.
“Please,” I hiss. “Let’s not let this one get away, hm?”
Kent gives a curt nod of determination. “Yes, sir.”
“Last thing…” I rumble as he’s about to leave. He pauses, turning back. “What’s Nestor been up to lately…?”
Kent blinks, and since I’ve known him a long time, I’m able to distinguish the slight, but immediate dread on his face.
I’m thoroughly suspicious and instantly seething. But I hide mine much better.
“Uh… nothing specific,” he mutters, then clears his throat. My gaze narrows. “Mostly shipping and receiving… Why?”
I say nothing. Just glare at him in tense, accusatory silence.
You know why… don’t you?
“That’ll be all,” I rumble, tone as sinister as I’m feeling.
Kent high-tails it out of my office, and I don’t take a breath until I can hear that he’s far enough away. My fist clenches and releases, eyes closing while I stow my fury.