“Six years?” I frowned at this. Jem would have been seventeen or eighteen. “Are you sure…? And you remember her?”
“It’s hard to forget someone who tries to set your car on fire.”
My mouth gaped open and I slowly released a breath in that sloppy, over exaggerated way you only achieve when you’re nearly drunk, “That sounds like Jem.”
Quinn leaned forward, pulling his gaze from mine and picking up the cards. He started to deal, “Right before I left Boston, before Des died, I was securing systems for a group that, well, the particulars aren’t important. It wasn’t a typical operation, though. The main guy- his name was Seamus- was basically a skinhead, a thug. But, he happened to be a very smart thug.” Quinn replaced the deck and picked up his cards, began rearranging them, frowning. “The trusted members all had these neck tattoos.” Quinn offhandedly gestured to his throat, drawing curving lines from his collar to his ear and around the back of his neck.
I drew in a deep breath, “The guy in the park, last Sunday, he had a tattoo on his neck.”
“Also Dan, the security group lead at the Fairbanks building, used to be one of them.”
“What did Jem do that has this guy’s panties so twisted?” I wrinkled my nose in, what I surmised was, an over exaggerated way because Quinn’s gaze softened as it perused my features and he half smiled.
“Does it matter?”
“No… yes.” I rolled my upper lip between my teeth and chewed on it, “No, I guess it doesn’t, but I’d like to know.”
“She helped one of his rivals raid a cash house of his.”
“Why would she do that?” I continued to bite my lip.
“Because she wanted make him angry. Because she is crazy.” His tone was flat, as though the explanation was rudimentary, obvious.
“I can’t believe you used to work with these people.” I switched lips and started nibbling on the bottom one.
Quinn’s eyes met mine; “I thought, when I saw the guy in the park, last week, that he was there because of me. But when I went to Boston and met with Seamus-”
I flinched, “You met with him!? The skinhead leader in Boston?”
He nodded, his jaw flexed, “When I met with Seamus-”
“Isn’t he dangerous? Why would you do that?” I interrupted him again.
Ignoring my interruptions he continued, “-Seamus said he was looking for Jem. The guy in the park, he thought you were her.”
A new kaleidoscope of expressions, mirroring my thoughts, must’ve mounted my features because Quinn quickly added, “I’ve had guards on you since last week and Seamus now knows that you are not Jem. He also knows that you work for me and are not a viable option for…” he paused as though choosing his words carefully, “Not a viable option for initiating contact with Jem. You should be completely safe.”
I nodded until it felt like I was bobbing up and down on a boat then cleared my throat; my hands were rigidly resting on my lap and I noted that they were balled into tight fists. With effort I relaxed my fingers and picked up my cards, forcing myself to look at them.
Ace of hearts, two of clubs, three of diamonds, ten of clubs, nine of clubs. It was a shit hand.
“Why- how-” I fanned out my cards and laid them on my lap, “Why did Jem try to set your car on fire?”
Quinn shrugged, not meeting my gaze, “I don’t remember, I don’t think there was a reason. I just remember that she was crazy.”
I felt sorry for myself, for being dealt a shit hand and for having a sister who’s most recognizable trait was criminality. Some people have annoying relatives who drink too much during the holidays and corner you with one-sided conspiracy theories where the government is both heinously incompetent and, at the same time, capable of staging the elaborate hoaxes, like the moon landing or Pearl Harbor or the theory of relativity.
I had a sister who didn’t limit her antics to holidays and liked to sleep with my boyfriend or attempt murder when faced with boredom.
I didn’t allow myself to dwell in the land of defeatism for very long. I couldn’t do anything about the hand I’d been dealt. I could only make the most of it, hope for the best, and accept my fate.
Or… I could cheat.
“Did you- do you-” I picked my cards up again but didn’t look at them; I kept my attention fixed on Quinn, blinked twice so he would come into focus, “Do you think I look like her? Like Jem? Did you think I was her?”
Quinn frowned at his cards then met my gaze, “Yes.”
I waited. When he didn’t elaborate I craned my neck forward and widened my eyes in disbelief, “Yes? Just… yes?”