"I don't know . . ."
"Well, don't decide now. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday. But if not, then it just wasn't meant to be, was it?"
Sound logic.
I heard him moving away from the door, his steps creaking on the landing and then tapping down the steps.
I picked up the envelope with shaking hands. Inside was $10,000 and a note. Pay your rent. Get cleaned up. See you Wednesday. ~ D
I knew now what that money meant. I watched the rays of morning light that cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my corner office. The amber warmth hit my mahogany desk, the hardwood floors, the art along the walls, the cushy couches. All paid for in cash. All bankrolled by the work I'd done for DiSalvo, starting with Sherman.
I kicked my heels off and paced along the wide expanse of my sitting area, letting my toes sink into the expensive rug that came from some Middle Eastern oasis.
What did he want?
DiSalvo and I had concluded all business a few years ago. His relocation to Cuba had been final, or so I'd thought.
I pivoted and walked, pivoted and walked. My mind was racing through numerous possibilities. Old business or new business? Maybe he was just calling to check on me? Had I done something? I racked my brain, trying to remember any detail or move I'd made that could have impacted him in any way. There was none. We'd cut all ties.
I continued my march for a while until I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Fuck it."
I was going to have to call him. There was no escaping it. Better to do it sooner rather than later. Even over the space of an hour, the dread had built up inside me until my chest felt constricted. Fear. My familiar friend I'd tried to leave behind in my small apartment with the linoleum floor and the dozen locks on the door. He'd found me again.
I took a few deep, even breaths before picking up the phone and dialing DiSalvo's number. I hoped he wouldn't answer. One ring, two rings-yes, yes, yes-three rings-
He answered, his voice steeped in irritation. "Evangeline."
"The fuck, Vin!" I yelled. I didn't care if the entire lower half of the island heard me.
"I've been working nonstop for a full week, Evan!" he yelled back. "I can't catch everything!"
"You can't catch the names of our biggest fucking clients on a list of victims?" I hissed.
He rose from his desk and kicked his trash can. It flew out the door, barely missing me.
"It's not their names, Evan. It's some of their last names, and some of them don't have matching names at all! No one would have caught it. Well, maybe you. But you had that idiot Drew and me-"
"Hey!" Drew yelled from next door.
"Shut the fuck up, Drew!" Vinnie and I yelled in near-perfect unison.
I lowered my voice. "I expect more from you, Vin. This is a big fucking deal. My ass could have been on the line, may still be on the line. And I had to learn about it all from DiSalvo? Jesus Christ."
"I know. I would have caught it. It would have taken me a little more time, that's all. I got nothing else to tell you, boss. I really don't."
"This is so bad. So very, very bad." I leaned against the doorframe, overcome by the situation.
Vinnie scrubbed a hand down his face and exhaled a deep breath before saying in an even tone, "If you're going to fire me, go ahead and do it. I haven't seen Carla in two days. She's made me sleep on the couch. Our baby is due in five months, and my marriage is on the fucking rocks. So just fire me already." He sank back into his chair and cradled his head in his hands.
His despair gave me pause. I would never fire Vinnie. Even if he set the place on fire and refused to piss on it to put it out. I was surprised he thought me firing him was even an option. It wasn't. Loyalty like his didn't come around every day. I dragged the fear juggernaut back to its confines and locked it up, if only for a moment. I sat down in the chair in front of Vinnie's desk.
"Go home, Vin."
He sagged even more.
"No, I'm not firing you. You're right. I've been working you too hard. Maybe you would have found it sooner if I'd actually given you a minute to breathe. And I'm not blameless in this. I've been . . . preoccupied."
Every other sound in the office stopped. Our audience was clearly taken aback.
"The rest of you get to work!" I yelled. "I want to see your fingers fucking bleed from all the work you're doing. You'd be lucky to be half the associate Vinnie is!"
The sounds resumed, though muffled.
"Go home, see your super-fat, uh, I mean pregnant wife." He raised his head and smiled weakly at that. I was making progress. "I have the profit-and-loss spreadsheet. I'll have Drew go through and cross-check with our client database for any familiar names-"