5. Jaime
Chapter 5
Jaime
D ropping down from the pull-up bar hanging on the bathroom door, I hit the floor and knock out my last sets of push-ups and crunches. Unless I’m too sick to move, I do three sets of twenty reps of each exercise every morning.
By eight a.m. I’m lounging on the couch, sipping coffee as I watch sunlight glint off the swimming pool outside. Decades of early mornings have conditioned my body and now I can’t sleep in even if I want to. I could’ve used the extra sleep today, though. Bouncing back from parties and late nights is a little harder than it was in my early twenties.
We just came off a month-long, multi-city bender, starting in LA and ending in the Cayman Islands. Fucking Callum, man, with his big ambitions and endless energy thanks to the shit he shoves up his nose. He’s expanding, connecting with new clientele through established dealers in far-flung locations. He wants to be the supplier for the suppliers.
Like I said, big ambitions. Wolf wasn’t lying when he said Cal wanted to be Scarface.
“When people want to feel good, I want them to think of me,” he said once. “It’s marketing 101. What’s the point of having the best shit if no one knows I have it?”
I get it, go big or go home. But the drug game depends on discretion and laying low. Once you get to a certain level, having too many people in your orbit becomes a liability. Looks like Cedro was right to be concerned. I can’t prove that profits have been withheld from him and Dario De Leon just yet, but Callum is definitely making decisions on his own and not always in ways that benefit the family business.
But what do I know? I’m just his girlfriend’s bodyguard, a grunt in his little army.
Yawning, I set my empty coffee cup on the table. Current exhaustion aside, it’s good that Maeve and I got dragged along on Cal’s multi-city tour. I got a lot of insight into his plans and how he does business. Usually, he leaves us home when he goes out of town, but I suspect he’s afraid Maeve will leave if he’s gone for too long. She’s obviously not happy here, and while I do my part to keep her in check, if she really wanted to go, she probably could.
I don’t know why she stays. Callum’s dismissive and a little rough, but beyond the coke, I don’t think he’s hurting her. I looked into her background before starting this job, so I know about her family back in Boston. The Kellys are a wealthy, established crime family not unlike the Oliveras. I don’t know what kind of relationship Maeve has with them, though, why she’s here and not there. She might be estranged from them, or maybe they’re assholes and they don’t care what she’s up to. Fathers and brothers should take care of their daughters and sisters, but I’ve seen plenty of men who treat the women in their life like they’re dispensable.
But I don’t get why Callum insists on her staying, either. He cheats on her left and right. I get that they’ve been together for a ridiculously long time, but the point comes where you need to cut your losses. They’re like a way more melodramatic version of Wolf and Analisse. Fucking or fighting, nothing in between.
I close my eyes, thinking about Maeve’s late-night visit. She caught me off guard when she showed up like that, all nervous and sad, looking ashamed of herself as she tried to come down. Maybe she trusts me more than I realized. What she said about Callum and their relationship wasn’t surprising, but the fact that she shared it with me was.
It was the relief I felt when she said she was done with coke that really took me for a loop. I shouldn’t care what she does with her body, but for some reason, I do. Something about that girl tugs at the protective part of me which is ridiculous because I’m not actually her bodyguard. This is a job within a job. I’m here only for as long as Cedro needs me to surveil Cal’s crew.
We’ve maintained a polite distance over the past few months, but it’s been hard watching someone like Maeve treat herself like shit. She’s a beautiful girl, with her bright green eyes and long, curly, black hair. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to her.
She’s so graceful, too. Even with an ankle that took forever to heal, she was graceful.
That’s the other thing: she’s an actual ballerina , but she’s not dancing and that makes her lowkey depressed. I get that her injury derailed her, but eventually she has to move past stuff like that. And not by getting high all the time—drugs are shit coping mechanisms.
Watching her try not to fall apart last night when we smoked was hard. She reminded me a little of my mother, who was an addict for most of my childhood. She got sober when I started high school, and it was like getting to know her all over again. If Maeve stays away from the hard stuff, I might get to know who she is beneath the sullen exterior she’s been sporting like armor.
But it goes both ways. Maeve being clean means she’ll probably see me more clearly, too. If what I saw last night is a hint of who she really is, then she’s a lot sharper and more observant than I realized. I’ll have to be careful around her. Things can get tricky when you spend the majority of your time in close physical proximity to someone.
My phone vibrates from beside me on the couch. It’s a text from Maeve.
I need to be somewhere by 11.
I’ll be ready
Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head and bring my coffee cup to the sink. I’m kind of hoping I don’t like the real Maeve. Because if I do, this is going to get even more complicated than it already is.
“Mind if I sit up front?” Maeve asks as we approach my car. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek, low bun and she’s wearing leggings with a cropped, pale pink sweater. She looks like a real ballerina today.
And she seems to be getting better. She still keeps her ankle wrapped in a special brace with a Velcro strap, but she doesn’t limp like she did when we first met.
“Sure,” I say, wondering what changed. Maeve’s always ridden in the back. I just assumed that’s how she did it with past drivers and bodyguards.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, flashing me a shy smile when I open the door for her.
“No problem.” Once she’s tucked her feet in, I shut the door and cross to my side. “Where we heading?”
“Um, Downtown Berkeley. I’ll give you the address.” Chewing her lip, she consults her phone before reading it off.
I program it into my phone as we pull out of the driveway. We pause at the gate just long enough for it to let us through, and then we’re off.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, still thinking about last night. She’d seemed calmer by the time I walked her back to the house, but I doubt she slept well.
She shrugs. “Could be better. I needed to get out of the house.”
“Gotcha.” Can’t say I blame her. “Where exactly am I bringing you?”
“A Piloga class.”
“A what?” I glance at her outfit again.
“Piloga. It’s Pilates mixed with yoga,” she explains.
“Interesting,” I say. “Is that what you do in the room with the bar?”
“You noticed that, huh,” she says with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I do yoga in there. And Pilates. I dance, if I can. But I miss being in a classroom.”
“You been dancing a long time?”
“My whole life.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to it?”
“That’s my goal,” she says. “As soon as my ankle’s fully healed.”
“You miss it,” I say.
“Every day,” she says, and the tremble in her voice tells me that’s the truth. “I’ve never gone this long without dancing. ”
It’s just like I thought. She’s been miserable, not just because of her dysfunctional relationship with Cal, but because she can’t do the one thing she wants to.
We fall silent, our default mode. After a moment, Maeve reaches for the a/c vent, turning it toward her. Her cheeks are pink.
“Are you hot?” I ask, turning up the a/c. September is the Bay’s warmest month, although I still find it pretty mild.
“No, I …” She shakes her head, turning her attention to the window. “I’m okay.”
The fog is thick this morning. Pretty to look at it, formidable to drive in. Switching on the fog lights, I slow for a hairpin turn. It’s like driving through a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
The Pilates/yoga studio is between a smoke shop and a bakery, not too far from UC Berkeley. The cloying scent of incense twines with the pleasantly yeasty smell of fresh bread, filling my car when Maeve opens the door. “I’ll be done in about an hour,” she says, swinging her backpack on.
“I’ll come in with you.” Turning the car off, I step out onto the street.
“That’s really not necessary,” she says, turning to go.
But it is. I follow her inside, briefly scoping out the place as Maeve talks to the woman at the front desk. Then I follow them down the hallway, leaving only once I’m satisfied that everything seems legit. Maeve’s ignoring me by this point, but that’s okay. I’m not here for her to like me, no matter how pretty she is.
Returning to my car, I pull away from the curb and park across the street so I can check in with Leo Oliveras on my burner. I don’t contact him very often, but he and Cedro know I’ve been traveling with Cal and will want details.
After a quick debriefing, I hit up a specialty electronics store further down the block. Cal’s security system was remarkably basic for someone in his position, so I played into his paranoia and suggested he upgrade it. He went for it right away, asking if I knew anyone who could hook him up, and lucky for him, I did—me. I’ve been keeping an eye on things since then, but the patio camera recently went down so I’m grabbing a new one.
I find what I need at the electronics shop and return to the car, keeping an eye on the studio across the street. People begin pouring out around the time she said her class would be over, but when five minutes turns to ten and Maeve doesn’t appear, I lock my car and venture inside. The woman at the crystal-encrusted desk gives me a bright smile, bracelets jingling as she pushes her hair back. “Welcome to Lotus he is. Pocketing my phone, I go into the living room where Cal and some guy I’ve never seen are playing GTA. Mac holds out his fist for a bump and I give it to him, sitting down beside him.
He hands me his blunt, chortling when Cal’s character pulls his lime green Pegassi into a police station and begins shooting it up. I glance around as I smoke, cataloging the faces. Griffin, I know. Roman and Jabari were with us on the trip. The rest, I don’t recognize.
Cal’s roar of triumph pierces through the din, his eyes wild with reckless abandon. The shit-talking and violent video game clash with the mundane task of putting groceries away, a stark reminder of how different Maeve’s world is from this one. She’s always like this when Cal’s friends are around, retreating into herself, a ghost in her own home.
“That’s how you fucking do it!” Cal tosses his controller down with a loud whoop of victory. “Fuck yeah!”
He stands up and stretches, swaggering off as Roman takes his place. Our eyes meet as he gulps down a bottle of water, and he points at me, wiping his chin. “You’re back,” he says.
Nodding, I take one more hit of Mac’s blunt, letting the smoke curl through my lungs and ease into my bloodstream.
Cal inclines his head like he wants to talk, so I get to my feet, following him into the study off the living room. He shuts the door and folds his arms. “Where’d you take Maeve?”
“Yoga, then grocery shopping,” I reply, wondering why he cares all of a sudden.
“Huh. Maybe she’s feeling better,” he muses, rubbing his chin. “I knew taking her with me on vacation would help. ”
Staying away from cocaine is what helps, but I nod. “Probably.”
“Definitely.” His eyes sharpen as he looks at me. “She say anything?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “About anything.”
This is how most of our conversations go. Lots of nonsense, going in circles. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t trust me and is wary to say too much or if his brain is just too addled by the chemicals it’s swimming in.
“Not really,” I say. “We’re cool, but we don’t talk much.”
“Yeah,” he says, and I swear he looks relieved. He probably does love her, in his own fucked-up way, and it wouldn’t be good if she talked to me when she barely talks to him.
Maeve was right to send me out of the kitchen. I don’t need Cal thinking we’re friends.
“You guys been together a long time?” I ask, my curiosity winning out.
“Since she was fifteen,” he says. “And I was sixteen.”
I didn’t expect that. “Damn, okay.”
“She’s the kind of girl you don’t let go of, know what I mean? Quality.” He smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Wifey material.”
“That’s what’s up.” There’s a loud thump, then a yell and more laughter from the living room. I glance at the door, but Cal’s preoccupied by something on his phone.
“Listen, what about that camera?” he asks, typing. “You gonna fix it up?”
“Yeah, I got what I need today,” I assure him. “I’ll set it up later, when everyone’s gone.”
There’s another thump in the living room. Cal looks up this time, frowning at the door as he pockets his phone. “Do that.” He yanks open the door, aiming a sharp look my way as he steps out. “Can’t trust people.”
Then why do you always have so many of them in your house? But I just nod. It’s pretty much all you can do with a guy like this. Agree, agree, agree.