One of Katrina’s brows arches sharply, and she gives me the faintest tip of her chin before walking away. I scan the lounge and force my breathing to steady.
When Katrina returns with my check, she drops it without saying a word. After one more scan of the lounge and a glance at the casino floor, I open the faux-leather flap to see what I owe.
The check isn’t the only thing inside the billfold.
On a blank piece of register tape, she’s hastily written a note.
If you lied about dating her, I’ll only serve you burnt burgers and unsalted fries. And you better take care of her. She’s special.
FORTY-TWO
Dinner for two
LILA
Eatingin front of people gives me indigestion. Doing it while it’s being recorded by the FBI is akin to four-alarm heartburn, bordering on a stomach virus.
And don’t get me started on the pee paralysis I had in the bathroom out of fear I didn’t turn the transmitter off properly. It took me a solid three minutes to relax my bladder enough to get the job done. With any luck, I won’t need to go again until I get this equipment off.
If I have to work more than one shift like this, I’ll have a UTI and an eating disorder.
While picking at my turkey on whole wheat, I try to focus on anything else but this entire mess. Naturally, I don’t succeed. And since I’m indoors, I can’t get distracted by scanning the skies for birds.
If I’m not worried about the wire or fearing that I might have to burp, I’m mentally replaying that video Reed and his team showed me earlier. I only needed to watch it once to etch it into my mind. Not so much what I could see, but what I heard.
Those sounds will haunt me for eternity.
Evidently, the FBI found a recording from a motion detection camera in some hidden compartment at the scene of a murder. I assume it’s thebad,bad murder Reed mentioned. Of course, they didn’t tell me any of this, but it wasn’t hard to piece together.
They asked me to listen to see if I recognized the voices from the audio or anything else.
The video clip started with a hand moving past the camera to reach for a large container. A dozen or so smaller vials were stacked beside it. They paused the video when I excitedly announced the vials were familiar. Silas had two of them when he would stop by to refill my rings with a syringe. One for each color dye.
I got a mood boost from being able to help the FBI so soon after signing my informal agreement.
They paused the playback again when I recognized the ink on the man’s hand as it passed by the camera. Another jolt of pride filled me when I was able to confidently state where I’d seen the same tattoo before. Although this person had a lighter skin tone than Silas, my slithery ex has an identical tattoo.
From that point on, all good vibes were smothered by the horror I felt as the video proceeded.
Despite the anguished sobbing in the background, the tattooed man’s voice was clear, given that he was near the camera at that point. As he started removing the small vials one by one, he mocked the victim.
“If you would have told us where this was to begin with, you wouldn’t be in all that pain, would you? But you had to be a greedy piece of shit.”
When he grabbed the larger container, the lid popped off, making the liquid slosh and spill. There was a lot of colorful cursing that would’ve made my uncle roll in his maggot-infested grave.
The screen went dark not long after. I suspect the compartment door was closed after he sloppily removed the container. However, the camera kept recording. And three distinct voices were captured on the audio.
It was obvious which one was the victim from how hoarse he sounded, probably from screaming for so long. Based on context, I assume he was tortured for the location of the liquid and the vials. Now that they had what they wanted, he was begging for his life.
The other men didn’t like that.
The man who grabbed the container did the majority of the speaking. It was all cruel taunting that I’m struggling to purge from my mind.
We can’t trust you anymore.
You went too far.
You’re already dead to us, and now we’ll make it official.
