“What do you hope to gain by this?” he asks.
Staring at him for a few seconds, I try to figure out how to handle this.
“Look, do you need to see proof?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. Show me you’re just a little bit human.”
The door shuts and the lock turns.
“What are you doing now?” Teeny asks.
“I need to get back to that room with the shower. It’s full of stuff. Maybe something we can use.”
“I don’t know if that’s the way to get back in there. I think you pissed him off.” She looks a little nervous. “I know what Ethan said, but I’m really worried about this Mateo guy. He wants to kill us. I know Thomas isn’t saying he won’t kill us later but he’s not saying it right now and I think we stay with the guy who is not saying he will kill us.”
I love Teeny’s ability to whittle this down to the simplest issue, but she doesn’t know about Agent Parker. And she also doesn’t know he will most likely dispose of us just as easily. But I look at her face and that misleading calm still etched all over it and decide I can’t shatter her completely right now.
“I know, Teeny. I’m more than willing to let Thomas take care of Mateo. But what happens after that? It won’t hurt if we have some way to take care of ourselves, too. I won’t do anything until we both agree to it.” She doesn’t look like she believes me. “Tell me the latest on Francesca. Did you get one of the letters out?” I need to distract her.
She picks up a single page. “I got the one that was returned to her out but it’s hard to read. The writing is so small. I think it’s written to the guy in the picture, Henry, although the name is smudged pretty bad at the top. And from what I can get it’s really horrible. She’s telling him what happened to her—why she disappeared. She got tricked into getting on the wrong ship in La Rochelle—Les Deux Frères—but she doesn’t know who did it. And she says she’s living in a convent right now. And she gets paraded around in front of these really gross old guys to see if any of them want to marry her. And the other girls are really mean to her. And she’s scared. She’s worried that by the time this letter gets to Henry and he comes to get her it will be weeks and weeks and probably too late.”
“Weeks? Where does Henry live?”
She flips the page over. “She’s from France. She got on a boat thinking she was going to England. But she came to the Vieux Carré instead. Maybe he lives in England and that’s who she was going to see.”
“You said she lived in a convent? If you think this is her room, does that mean we’re in a convent?”
Teeny shrugs and I stare at the wood beams crossing the ceiling, thinking about Thomas in the priest outfit. For some reason, he’s dressed like a religious person. That would make sense.
I read the letter for myself—the parts that are legible—and Teeny’s right. It is pretty horrible. When Thomas opens the door, I slide the paper back to Teeny. He’s got a plain white plastic bag and motions for me to follow him. I’m hoping he lets me have the whole room to myself, not just the bathroom.
When we get to the room, I stop in the middle and hold my hand out for the bag. He passes it to me but doesn’t move.
“Uh…I need some privacy.”
He motions to the bathroom but doesn’t say anything. I open the plastic bag, trying to stall for some time. There’s a box of tampons, Advil, a black pair of exercise pants, and a three-pack of panties. Even though I asked for the panties, I’m a little grossed out that Thomas or Vader picked underwear out for me.
“This is the lasterrandwe’ll be running for you.”
Great. I’ll have to make the most of my time in this room since I might not make it back in here. With my head turned down like I’mlooking in the bag, I eye the room for anything that could be of help.
The bed…nothing.
The nightstand…small lamp, book, newspaper. It’s folded and too far away to read what it says.
The desk…laptop, lots of papers, pens, books, more papers…that’s it.
Thomas clears his throat, loudly, and I move to the bathroom. There’s no doubt he’s waiting on the other side for me to finish.
Glancing around the bathroom, there’s just the usual stuff. Nothing that could be a weapon or a tool. I start the water and undress. No sense in wasting this opportunity.
It was probably overkill asking for all this stuff, but he got everything on my list. Maybe I shouldn’t have used my onlyfavoron this. I wad some wrapper paper from a tampon in the trash can just in case, and then I see it. It’s a wooden handled plunger tucked behind the toilet. Once I pull the rubber part off, I’ve got a pretty thick solid piece of wood, almost like one of the clubs cops use.
I roll it up in my dirty jeans and smile to myself—I now have a weapon.
Rules for disappearing
by Witness Protection prisoner #18A7R04M:
Don’t be afraid to get down and dirty.
