“Clean this up!” I spit, stepping off the raised platform and making my way to the back office for a clean shirt.
After removing my soiled shirt and adding it to the pail to be burned later, I sit at the desk with my phone. I need to know more, and I only have one way of doing that. My thumbs hover over the text thread with Cindel. I haven’t even bothered to clean the drying blood from my hands.
Eamon: Hey, little fish, sorry I had to leave so abruptly.
Cindel: It’s okay.
Eamon: Would you like to have dinner with me?
It takes a few moments until another message comes through.
Cindel: Now? It’s almost 2 a.m.! Plus, I thought you had a meeting?
I’m sure she’s curious what kind of encounter happens at this hour, but she doesn’t ask. I snicker to myself as I type back.
Eamon: Got off on the wrong foot with a new client. The meeting ended earlier than expected.
Dots dance along the bottom of the screen as she appears to be typing, erasing, and retyping her response.
Cindel: Today has been the longest day in history for me. I need to get some sleep.
I agree. It has been a taxing day. She doesn’t deserve this. My search for answers will have to hold off until another day.
Cindel: I also have this breakfast thing in the morning.
Right… the Thursday thing with her uncle. I wonder what other family she has that I didn’t know about. It may be wise to spend time with her in a new setting, outside of work. We have a lot of regulars, and you can never be too careful. You never know who may be watching.
Eamon: How about dinner this weekend?
She doesn’t wait to respond. Dots dance ahead of a lengthy response.
Cindel: Shit. Sorry... I'm sure you didn’t know. I told Cassie earlier this week that I needed the weekend off. I’m going to the Catskills. My parents need me to dog sit.
Is that where they ran off to all those years ago? I debate telling Cindel that Cassie is gone, but I think better of it. She’s had a rough day already. Damn, now I need to hire more help.
Finally, I responded.
Eamon: Next week, then. Goodnight, beautiful.
I felt foul outside as well as within. I rest my head against the walnut desk, trying to quiet the swarm of bees taking up residence in my brain, when the damn phone begins to buzz violently.
“What?” I answered. Rubbing at my temples; soon realizing my hands are still splattered with blood and now it’s surely on my face now.
“Sup, loser?!” a high-pitch voice replies.
“Make it quick, I’m a little busy.” Pressing the phone to my ear before migrating to the office bathroom. Retrieve a towel, I begin to wipe at the evidence off me, trying to do right by my family.’ Fuck. Going to have to burn this brand-new hand towel now.
“Yeah. Yeah. Important gang shit to do. Blah. Blah.” The teasing voice plays through the speaker. I throw the towel down into the sink.
“What the fuck do you want?!” I turned back just in time to see Garron and Dax have entered the room, both taking seats in front of my desk.
“Okay, geeze! I thought you should know that Dad’s coming. He said something about you being out of your wheelhouse. Says he needs to come and sort this shit, himself.”
I march over to Garron, pushing his feet off the edge of my desk. “Yeah… how about, no! You tell him—” I begin, only to be cut off by a shrill voice on the other line.
“I’m not your fucking pigeon, Eamon! Tell him yourself when he’s standing in front of you within the next couple hours!”
I sighed heavily. There was a time when we weren’t at each other's throats. I bet Mom is turning in her grave with how we are to each other now. “Sorry. It’s just… I got a lot of moving pieces right now and I’m trying to get more intel.”
