1380 Castle Drive. The house on the cliff.
What a fitting name. He’d seen it before, once or twice. A literal fucking castle on the edge of a cliff, turrets and towers climbing toward the sky. Massive windows overlooked the grey beach. Pale stone glittered in the sun, nearly blinding from across the bay. A string of lights lit the veranda in a glow that could only be described as romantic, mysterious,indulgent.
It hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder who lived there, who owned it. Anyone residing there lived a life far divorced from his own.
This had to be some kind of trap. Eventhinkingabout going there felt illegal. More than that, it felt impossible that he, a meager secretary, the son of blue-collar workers, could ever set foot there. This was preposterous. Ridiculous.
There was no way. This couldn’t be a serious request.
It ate at Jack’s bones like a revelation.
All afternoon, he thought about the house, the voice on the phone. Should he go?
What was the worst that could happen? Even if he was robbed or attacked, he’d only suffer for a day before waking up in the hotel room again.
On the other hand, he was generally averse to suffering of any kind and felt he’d already endured quite enough.
No, he should just ask Boris what he knew about the place. Then, depending on the answer, he could scope out the castle from afar. Jack was no private investigator and probably wouldn’t glean any useful information from a stakeout, but the semblance of a plan made him a little less vulnerable, a little braver.
Even so, trepidation gnawed at his gut.
“Hey,”he asked Boris. “Know anything about the castle on the cliff?”
Boris shot to attention so quickly that Jack took a step back. “Yeah. Don’t go there.”
“Thanks, but what if I’ve been invited?”
“Don’t. Go,” said Boris, emphasis on each word.
“Why. Not?” said Jack, mirroring him.
Boris groaned and threw his arms wide. “Because that’s the mob house, idiot.”
A chill shot from Jack’s spine to the tips of his fingers. The temperature in the room became subarctic. “The mob?”
“Yeah, the mob. Listen,” said Boris, lowering his voice. “They don’t live here, but they own some restaurants and stuff around town. Keep your head down, don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine. Don’t go to that fucking place.”
“I don’t think I have a choice,” said Jack, trying and failing to fight down panic.
“Yeah, no. There’s always a choice. You can tell them to fuck off.” Boris crossed his arms and glared. “Unless you owe them.”
“Great advice,” said Jack dryly. “And of course, I don’t.”
“I’m just telling the truth, buddy.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Jack, turning to leave.
“Be fucking careful!” Boris bellowed after him. His voice echoed through the lobby, so loud that a couple passing on the sidewalk outside paused to stare at them through the dirty window.
Jack gave them an awkward little wave. Boris buried his face in his hands.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
As prominent andostentatious as it was, 1380 Castle Drive was actually quite difficult to find. Jack followed the road toward the forested hill, satchel bumping against his hip, stomach growling. In all the excitement, he’d completely forgotten to grab the candy bar, still on the nightstand at the hotel. A mistake, if he’d ever made one.
The walk was more of a hike, and by the two-mile mark, Jack declared himself starving. Halfway up the hill, surrounded by deep forest, stomach gurgling, he began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. The road wound behind him, twisting like a knot of intestines. Through the trees, he could barely make out the pale forms of lavish houses and their long, steep driveways.
