1. Aleksandras
P resent day
The roar of the engine is music to my ears. I wipe the grease from my hands, admiring the purring machine beneath me. Working on cars has always been the only thing that made sense to me. Metal, engines, and horsepower—they didn’t lie, didn’t cheat. Unlike people.
Cars are simple, and I allow the whirring sound to soothe me. There’s a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of worry and anxiety. I waited so long to be free again, yet I’m not free at all. I’m a slave to the system now, and it feels like I’m just counting the days before they slap a shiny pair of handcuffs back on my wrists.
My mom’s medical bills have always been a constant source of stress for me, and they continue to haunt me now, even after she’s passed. They’re like a shadow, always there, following me everywhere. I took on the financial burden, so she didn’t have to deal with the stress and put all of it in my name. I figured I’d handle it, one way or another. But I didn’t handle a damn thing.
Even four years in prison hadn’t erased the debt. If anything, it had ballooned with interest, penalties, and collection fees. The number keeps growing, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, it’s always there, waiting to crush me. A few days ago, I got a letter of demand. I have two weeks to come up with one hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars, or they’re taking me to court.
I thought about filing for bankruptcy, but Morty shut that idea down fast. He said the courts would dig into my entire financial history. They’ll try to find the source of every dollar I’ve ever made, every deposit, every transaction. There are things I was never charged for, money I can’t explain, and the last thing I need is some forensic accountant sifting through my past. That door is closed.
So, I have to pay it. Legally. The problem is, ex-cons like me don’t get a lot of honest opportunities. No one’s lining up to hire a guy with my record. Even if I found a job, it’ll be minimum wage. I’d barely make enough to cover rent, let alone six figures in medical debt.
Maybe I should just accept the inevitable. Let them sue me, drain whatever little I have left, and when it’s all over, I’ll be stuck with a wrecked credit score, no chance of ever owning a car or a home, and banks slamming the door in my face the second they see my name. I’ll spend the rest of my life working shitty jobs just to scrape by, with no way to build a future.
Sounds great. A dream come true.
A car door slamming shut pulls me out of my thoughts. The crunching of gravel alerts me to someone approaching, and the sun glinting off his shiny black shoes catches my eye before he does.
“Hello, John.”
That familiar voice grates my ears like nails down a chalkboard, and an icy shiver runs down my spine. Just hearing that name hauls me back five years, dragging me through the sludge and muck of the past I’m trying to leave behind. I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath before I shut the hood to look up at him.
Victor Salazar. He hasn’t changed one bit. Although graying on the sides, his black hair is still slick and combed back. His goatee is still expertly trimmed. His suit is still perfectly tailored for his tall, muscular frame. Most people find his presence commanding, intimidating even, but right now his presence is unnerving because I don’t know what the hell he wants from me.
“Don’t call me that,” I reply through gritted teeth, unable to hide my growing aggravation. “That’s not my name. That’s not who I am anymore.”
He laughs, a cold, mirthless sound that only serves to mock me. “And who are you now? Did you go back to being Aleksandras Kazlauskas? The poor Lithuanian boy trying to earn an honest living just to make ends meet? That boy died a long time ago...about the same time as his mother.”
His words are like a kick to the stomach. My hands clench, and it takes everything in me not to punch that smug smirk off his face. He’s not alone. I can bet my last dollar that there are two, maybe even three, armed goons in the black limo parked not even ten feet away. If I so much as look at him wrong, they’ll take me out without hesitation.
If Bowman is still his right-hand man, I know exactly what to expect. He’ll make sure I suffer before he ends me. The motherfucker is ruthless. I’ve done enough jobs with him to know that pulling the trigger is usually his last resort. He prefers to use every other weapon first.
It’s in my best interests to remain calm but, fuck, hearing him speak about my mother so callously instantly pushes me to a point where taking on all his goons doesn’t seem like a bad idea. I did everything I could to save my mom. I worked three jobs, and when the medical bills still kept piling up, I sold my soul to this cunt for a few more months with her. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.
Victor’s right. When she died, that poor Lithuanian boy died, too. If I think back to my childhood, that little boy is unrecognizable to me now. I was only seventeen when I met Victor. I was working as a mechanic at my uncle’s auto repair shop in Richmond, trying to save money to go to college. Back then, I was na?ve enough to believe that one day I’d have enough to study automotive engineering and design. And when Victor handed me my first thousand dollars to fix a car, I truly believed it was the first step toward achieving my goals.
Little did I know the car was stolen, and I didn’t get a thousand dollars for doing a great job of fixing it. Nah, that thousand dollars was to keep my mouth shut when the cops came by the next week asking questions about it. I didn’t say one word to anyone.
The second time I saw Victor, he paid me three thousand dollars. This time, I was not only required to ignore the fact that the car was stolen, but I also had to ignore the black duffel bag in the backseat with a finger and hair poking out at the edge of the zipper.
Once again, I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told to do because my mom had just received her diagnosis a few weeks prior. The combined wages from all my odd jobs weren’t cutting it, and I was desperate. Her well-being was more important to me, so I turned a blind eye to everything Victor brought into my workshop. After my uncle died, I took over the shop, but it was just a front by then.
The more loyalty I showed, the more I was rewarded. Victor started involving me in more high-level crimes, and I got sucked into a life I had no control over. I was trapped, and I couldn’t get out. I knew too much, had seen too much. And it escalated to a point where I couldn’t even claim that I was an ignorant bystander who didn’t know what was going on.
I had my hand in a few robberies, some jewelry heists. I even stole a couple of cars myself. With that kind of lifestyle, there’s bound to be a few casualties along the way, and I turned a blind eye to that, too. When my mom’s condition worsened two years later, I wasn’t the son she loved so dearly. Aleksandras was no more. There was only John Turner, the alias Victor created to make it easier for us to evade law enforcement.
Even though everything I did was for her, the end didn’t justify the means, and I know now that the end was inevitable. She’s gone. And all the despicable things I did to keep her here were all for nothing.
“Leave my mother out of this,” I say, a biting edge to my tone. “Just tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”
“I’m just here to catch up with an old friend.”
I humph. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
His lips lift in a humorless grin. “Fine. I have a job for you.”
“Not interested.” I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “The last time I did a job for you, I ended up in the slammer for four years. So, no thank you. It’s a hard pass this time. I’m done with you. I’m done with that life. From now on, I’m on the straight and narrow.”
“Uh-huh.” He slides his hands into his pockets, looking past me to the rickety old trailer behind me. “And how’s that working out for you, Johnny?”
Pretty shitty. It’s actually not working out for me at all. I’m broke. I’m distressingly close to being homeless. But my criminal record is my biggest obstacle. One background check and any potential job offers fly out the window. I’m basically on my ass, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that...especially because he’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.
“It’s great. Morty, my eighty-three-year-old landlord, he said I could stay here as long as I like if I fix up his truck.” I nod toward the pickup in front of me. “I’ve got a roof over my head...” True . “...food in my belly...” Partially true. “...and a new job starting next week.” Total fabrication. “So, as you can see, I have everything I need.”
His condescending snort slices through my bullshit like a hot knife through butter. “You can’t fool me, John. We both know you don’t even have a pot to piss in. You’re trying to get your life together, but you can’t find a job. You’re drowning in debt. It’s tough. I know.” He releases a deep sigh filled with fake sympathy. “I’m just trying to help you out a little...you know? For old-time’s sake. I think five hundred thousand could go a long way in helping you get back on track.”
Half a mil? Shit, the things I could do with half a mil. That’s more than enough to pay off my debt and start over. I could open my own shop, start a new life and—
I stomp that thought out right there. I am very well accustomed to Victor’s manipulation tactics, yet still I can feel the tug, the undeniable pull toward the dark side. The temptation is so great I can almost taste it. He’s luring me back into that life, a life I don’t want anymore.
I stiffen my spine and steel my resolve. I’m not going to fall for it this time. Memories flash through my mind. Four years behind bars, trapped in a concrete box. I can’t go back there. I have to figure another way out...a legal way out.
“Yeah, I’m still gonna pass, Vic. If I’ve learned anything in this business, it’s that half a mil comes with a shitload of risk. Find yourself another guy. I’m not doing any more of your dirty work for you.”
“It’s not that kind of job. No dirty work. Minimal risk. There’s no downside to this. It’ll be the easiest money you’ve ever made.”
Okay, now I’m intrigued, but I don’t want to give him the upper hand, so I remain silent.
He takes that as his cue to continue and pulls out a photo from the inner pocket of his suit. “Katelyn Akiyama.” He hands me the picture. “Her father, Kenji, is my lawyer, and I have it on good authority that he’s planning to turn on me. He’s got shit on me going back about a decade, and if he hands that over to the feds, I’ll be going away for a very long time.”
It's there, dangling at the tip of my tongue. The urge to tell him he’d deserve every second behind bars...just like I did, but instead, I say, “I’m still not sure how I fit into all this.”
“Katelyn’s a student at UC Berkeley. Biochemistry major. Lives in her grandfather’s old house near campus. It was vacant for about a decade after he passed away, but she moved in during her freshman year.”
“And?” I press.
“ And I think that’s where Kenji’s keeping all his files on me.”
“So, you want me to break in and steal them? I just got out of prison eight months ago for doing exactly that. You told me there was no downside to this, and that’s a definite downside for me. Isn’t this something you can get your goons to do?”
“No.” He lightly strokes his goatee, and I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Victor look nervous. “I’ve already tried that, and it didn’t work. They ransacked his office a few weeks ago, took all his devices. Found nothing. Last week, I had them cut the electricity to his house and sent a mole in as a repair guy to do a sweep. He found nothing there either. He doesn’t own any other properties, so those files have to be at the house in Berkeley.”
I frown because this tiptoeing doesn’t sound like Victor at all. It’s not like I want him to hurt an innocent man, but I know how he operates. “Why not just take him out? Seems easier than all this cloak-and-dagger crap.”
“You think I haven’t thought of that? It was my first option. And killing him might solve the problem in the short term, but Kenji isn’t stupid. A guy like him doesn’t make a move like this without covering his ass. If I take him out, I risk triggering whatever backup plan he’s got in place. Maybe a third party he’s already tipped off. Either way, those files could still end up in the wrong hands, and I’ll lose everything.” He sneers, hating the fact that this Kenji guy has got him by the balls. “And trust me, he will be taught a harsh lesson for betraying me. I will take him out...just not now. I need to be stealthy about my next move, or he may just panic and take what he has to the feds.”
I shift and lean back against the pickup as I try to make sense of the whole situation. “What’s stopping him from doing that right now?”
“I’m dangling a few carrots, making him think we’re about to do a big drug trade with another cartel—Alfonzo and his gang. He thinks it’ll be big enough to put all of us away, but really, it’s just a smoke and mirrors game to buy me more time to find these fucking files.” He sneers and releases an aggravated breath. “And that’s where you come in. I need you to scour that place top to bottom and find those files. I don’t care how you do it, just do it as inconspicuously as possible.”
My mom always told me that if something seems too good to be true...it probably is. This doesn’t seem like half a mil’s worth of work, so what’s the catch? “Why me? You can get any of your boys to do this for you? Bowman’s very capable.”
“Because you’re resourceful,” he replies without hesitation. “I’ve spent four years trying to replace you, and I can’t find a single person with your level of skill and competence. If there’s anyone who can get this job done without fuck-ups, it’s you.” He shrugs as if his answer should’ve been obvious to me. “Also, you’re young. Twenty-six, but you can pass for twenty-two, so you can easily blend in with the university crowd without anyone getting suspicious. But mainly...you’re loyal. I trust you, Johnny.”
I hear it then. The panic in his voice. Whatever Kenji has on him must be worse than what I’ve witnessed. And that’s saying something. That should make me more fearful about what this man is capable of, but instead, I decide to exploit this very lucrative opportunity. It could go one of two ways. He could negotiate me down to five-fifty...or he could put a bullet in my head. Not great odds, but I’m going to trust my gut on this.
I swallow so he doesn’t hear the nervousness in my voice. “Six hundred.”
There’s no negotiation. He doesn’t even blink, which shows how much is riding on this. “Done.” He turns on his heel and starts walking back to his car.
“Can I get an upfront payment? Say about...twenty percent?” I know I’m pushing it now, but that would cover a sizeable portion of my debt.
“No,” is his swift reply. “This fake drug deal is supposed to happen in nineteen days. You have until then. You get your full payment when the job is done.”
“Wait. What if the files aren’t at the house in Berkeley?”
“I’m a hundred percent sure they’re there,” he retorts without looking back.
He’s already tried Kenji’s house and office and was wrong both times. How can he be so sure this time? “But what if they aren’t?”
He stops and turns to face me again. “Then we take the girl and use her as leverage.”
My eyes almost pop out of my head. “Kidnapping? Like my rap sheet isn’t long enough already. You want to add kidnapping to it now, too?”
“It’s a last resort,” he assures me. “And if it comes to that—which it won’t because those files are there—but if it does, I’ll get my boys to do the dirty work . I’ll pay you half the amount for your trouble, and you can disappear with your money. You’ll never hear from me again.” He reaches into his pocket, then chucks a sealed envelope at me. “Almost forgot. I’m not sure if you’ll need this, but just in case, your fake ID and university pass are in there with some cash. Use it to get yourself cleaned up.”
I watch him slip into the backseat of the limo, and within a minute, the car is just a speck on the horizon. I’m not sure if the adrenaline kept me upright, but I slump against the truck the second they disappear from view.
There really doesn’t seem to be any downside to this deal. I still get half even if I deliver nothing. Maybe something can be good and true at the same time.
I finally take a second to study the picture he gave me. Katelyn Akiyama. It’s a side profile of her, and her long black hair covers much of her cheek. Yet even without seeing her whole face, something about her eyes catches my attention. They’re deep and thoughtful, filled with curiosity.
There’s an innocence about her. No. Innocence isn’t the right word. Unsuspecting is more apt. She seems untainted, unafraid, and totally unprepared for an encounter with someone like me.