Only now they’ve confirmed the who.
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid. Thought you might have some advice. You’re a pretty smart old man, after all.” I say this with a grin, a loving one. And Dad recognizes it. I see it in his eyes, all the affection I have for him reflected there.
“You need help at the club.”
“I’m open to it. Any suggestions?”
“Here’s what you do. Take out two ads in the paper.”
“Does anyone still use an actual newspaper?” I tease.
“Some people do,” he says with a casual shrug. In this case, “some people” must be pretty important people. “But there’s an online place you can advertise, too. Don’t put the second ad in there. Only the first one. You might get a quicker response from it.”
He goes on to tell me exactly where to place the ads and how to word them. I make notes in the crappy burner phone I’m carrying.
“You should hear something in a few days. At the latest. Maybe getting some help around there will free you up a little more.”
“Yeah. This is really becoming a problem for some of my employees, too.”
He knows that Olivia bartends for me.
“Well, this might be the answer then. Sometimes it takes drastic measures.”
“I’m desperate. At this point, I’d be willing to try pretty much anything.”
He nods again, but says nothing. In his eyes, I see regret. Deep, painful regret and sorrow. Although he doesn’t have the details, he knows that things are starting to go sideways. Coming to a head. And not in a good way, not in our way. Having to hand over the books was never part of the plan, never a consideration. After all this time, I never thought…well, I just never thought. And not thinking has cost me. And it might keep costing me.
Unless I can figure out something else. Maybe the ads and whoever they’re signaling will be all the answer I need. I hope so.
********
As soon as I get back to my bike, I check my phone. Signal is lost completely inside the prison. Olivia knew I’d be unreachable for those few minutes. She seemed fine with it, much more so than me. I rushed through the visit as much as I dared so I could get back out into the wired world. Now I’ve got four bars and no messages, which is a good thing. I guess. No emergencies. No reason to worry.
But I wouldn’t have minded finding a text or a message from her anyway, reason or not. Just to let me know she’s okay. Or maybe that she missed me.
After a few seconds of internal debate, I give in to the urge and push the button to dial Olivia’s temporary cell phone number. It’s not that I have anything particular to say. I suppose it’s just that, despite the fact that I’ve only been gone a couple hours, I want to make sure she’s okay. Just check in. It’s the polite, considerate thing to do. That’s all. Nothing more.
Just keep telling yourself that, buddy.
I roll my eyes at that voice in my head. He’s a smart ass.
“Hello?” comes the sleepy response.
“Did I wake you?”
“That’s okay. I was just being lazy, but I need to get up. Where are you?”
“I’m still at the prison. I’m getting ready to leave. Just thought I’d check in.”
“Really?” There’s a smile in her voice. And a hint of something else. Pleasure, maybe? It seems like she’s happy that I’m checking in with her.
“Does that surprise you?”
She pauses. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
Another pause. “I don’t know. I guess I just keep expecting you to…”
She trails off, but I have no problem finishing her thought. She still thinks I’m one of her typical bad boy mistakes. Vaguely, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to do enough or say enough or show her enough that I’m not like that. At least not in the ways that count. Or will she always compare me to them? If she does, she’ll always find similarities. But will she see the differences? And will they be enough?
Sometimes it sounds like a battle I can’t win. After living the lives of two separate people for all these years, after having to pretend to be things I’m not for all these years, what I really want is someone who sees the real me and accepts it. All of it. The good, the bad and the ugly.
But, that can’t be my primary concern at the moment. There are too many more important things to worry about. Like keeping everyone alive and safe and unharmed. Even people I don’t particularly care for, like Marissa. I couldn’t live with something like her death on my conscience. Or even her being hurt. I already feel like shit about this whole mess and nothing has really happened. Just the thought of it escalating and, God forbid, ending badly gives me a little insight into what Dad must feel. Every single day. He has the death of two loved ones on his hands, not to mention whatever else he’s done during his employment with the Russian mafia.