CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

AMBER

 

AFTER EMMETT LEFT, I took a long shower. His confession of killing a man circled around in my head. There was no way that Grace knew any of this. She would have demanded I return, or she would never have asked Emmett to help me in the first place if she had. This was huge to hide from her; her half-brother for no better word was a gangster. He had killed people. KILLED. What kind of person did that make me that I didn’t run? Instead, I was washing my hair.

Wrapping the warm, fluffy towel around me, I wiped the steam away from the bathroom mirror and stared at my reflection. My hair hung down my back. I had bags under my eyes. I touched my cheeks; they looked shallower. The steam started to fog the mirror back up, and this time I left it there and got dressed in my new clothes. After putting on some makeup and drying my hair, I checked my suitcase and found what I was looking for: my car keys. It was playing on my mind. I had left it parked behind my apartment building. I just hoped my landlord Miss Krinkley, the old bag, hadn’t got it towed away.

I lay on the bed with my new phone. In the contacts, I smiled as I scrolled through my three numbers. One was Grace, who I programmed in. The other my parents, who I also programmed in, and the third was Emmett, who I didn’t program in. I dialed his number and got his voicemail. I kept it brief, telling him to hurry up. I didn’t really expect him to.

Ten minutes after the phone call, a knock came to the door. Surprised, I stuffed my phone and keys into my pocket, while grabbing my key card for the room.

“Miss Green.” The disappointment I felt at seeing Michael standing at the door must have been visible on my face as he smiled knowingly. “Not who you were expecting?”

I shrugged it off. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Which was kind of true. I folded my arms and gave him a look that said what-do-you-want.

“Mr. Harrington is caught up, so I have to take you where-ever you want to go.”

I let the door close behind me. “Good, I’m ready.” We rode the elevator in silence. Joe sat outside, waiting for us. It didn’t take long to reach my old apartment block, and lord, after the time I had spent in the compound, it made me realize that it looked so rundown. “Wait here, I’m just heading out the back to see if my car is still here." I reached for the door handle, but it wouldn’t open. I wiggled it in rising anger. “What the hell?” I looked at Michael and Joe, my heart pounding.

“I’m coming with you,” Michael said, and Joe unlocked the door. I don’t know why I was reacting so badly—maybe the fact that these men were gangsters, and I was driving around with them. I got out feeling lightheaded, sweat coated my forehead, and I had to ask Michael to give me a moment. He did, standing beside me like a god damn bouncer. People were staring at me curiously, and I was feeling uncomfortable with the attention. I sucked it up and headed out back. I think when the door was locked I had assumed the worst: that they were going to hurt me, just as Matthew had planned. I didn’t really know these people, and I normally wasn’t so trusting. I needed to keep my wits about me.

“So where is Emmett, anyway?” I asked as I scanned the parking lot.

“In a meeting.” I could hear the ‘full stop’ and ‘mind your own business’ in Michael’s words.

“Shit.” I did another three hundred and sixty-degree circle. My car wasn’t here. My heart sank, and my throat burned. My reaction surprised me. Why the hell was I feeling emotional? My car was a piece of shit, but it was also the last thing that connected me to my old life, the life before Emmett Harrington walked into the police station. “My car isn’t here,” I told Michael, who didn't seem to really care. That annoyed me. I was just someone to cart around. I marched away, feeling overly irritated.

“Where to next?” he asked as we made our way back to the building. I rang the bell for Miss Krinkley’s apartment. After keeping my finger on the buzzer for a good twenty seconds she finally answered.

“Where’s my car?” I asked through the monitor.

“Who is this?” She sounded as crappy as she always did.

“Amber Green.” I snarled.

Her sneer was heard loud and clear. “Have you got my money?”

“You kicked me out, illegally may I add.” Silence followed my accusation. She knew the shit she did was illegal.

“It was impounded.” I seethed. The bitch sounded happy.

“Where?” I was trying to keep calm.

“Overflow central," she answered.

“It’s a good job you’re eighty-seven, because if you weren’t I would kick down this door and kick your ass.” I didn’t wait for a response, but marched back to the car. I couldn’t talk—I was that angry, so Michael told Joe where to go. I flexed my hands a few times; this was going to cost me a fortune. She was a nasty old woman.

The closer we got to the impound, the more I felt embarrassed about threatening an eighty-seven-year-old. “She’s really mean,” I said, to no one in particular. I just felt like I needed to defend myself. No one spoke. I looked at Michael. “Like, she packed my suitcase and changed the locks while I was out, and I came home to find myself evicted, no warning. Crazy bitch," I added. Michael remained silent, just nodding a reply–his nod was filled with ‘I don’t really give a shit.’ And why would he? He was a gangster, after all. Hell, he had probably done worse and smiled about it.  Giving up, I sat back and tried to calm down.

I still wasn’t over it when we pulled up to the compound. Once again, I couldn’t get out of the car, but my body didn’t react like it had the first time. With a raised, impatient eyebrow, I turned to Michael for an explanation as to the locked doors and he smiled. “I don’t mind you threating little old ladies…” I tried to defend myself, but he silenced me. “…but the men at this compound aren’t little old ladies, so let me do the talking."

“Fine.” He narrowed his eyes at my response, as if weighing up my answer.

“Open the door, Joe.” I had faced the door and felt a slight amount of satisfaction when the lock popped, and I was free to leave the vehicle. I did, indeed, let Michael do all the talking. I just had to give the registration of my 96 VW Beetle. The tapping on the computer sounded like he was slapping anything, just to look like he was looking something up. The guy’s brown hair kept falling into his eyes, which he flicked away several times.

“Fifteen hundred release fee.”  His monotone didn’t help my growing annoyance.

“It’s hasn’t been that long.” I rattled my keys at him in frustration. This was extortion. 

“That’s what the computer says.” I looked at the nametag on his shirt. ‘Ed.’

“Ed, do your little typey thing again. There has to be some kind of mistake.”

He glanced at Michael, as if I was being unstable. “I’m not sure what your friend wants here,” he told Michael.

“My car, I want my car.” I leaned in close to the window, and Ed stood and told me to step back. This was pointless. The car wasn’t even worth fifteen hundred. “Okay, fine. Ed, I just want to retrieve some of my belongings from it.” Finally, the gate that separated me from all the cars buzzed.

“That’s no problem,” Ed sounded reasonable.

I got my license, a bottle of perfume, and my umbrella. You never know when you need one; it always seemed to rain every time I was walking somewhere. Opening the boot, I found a pair of work shoes, which was next on my agenda–to find a job. Closing the boot, I gave my old faithful car one last look before I walked out of the compound and back to the car I had arrived in, with Michael in tow.

We returned to the hotel. Michael didn’t follow me up to the room, something that I was grateful for. I found an envelope on the dresser, with my name scrolled across it.  It was filled with cash and a small note.

Your week’s wages.

I fell back on the bed, letting out a deep breath. The money was silly, there was at least a thousand in it. I had worked for one day. I sat up and took out a hundred; I did—after all—work for a day. I stuffed it into my purse, then thought again and took another hundred; I did have a call out. I put that in my purse too and left, heading downstairs for food.

While I ate the best steak and chips I’d had in a long time, I watched people through the wall of mirrors that coated the side wall of the restaurant. It was something Grace and I often did in college. We would lie out on the grass, watching the world go by. Somewhere behind me, a man in his sixties maybe seventies, felt up a young woman’s leg. She smiled at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She was definitely forty years younger than him. I could never understand women sleeping with older men for money. There was no way she loved him or was attracted to him. He reminded me of the Penguin from Batman. So, he was no oil painting.

I finished my meal and paid the eighty-eight dollars. Daylight robbery. I shook my head as I handed the money to the cashier. Just scandalous, but delicious. A far cry to the canned tuna I’d had the first night I was here.

As I was leaving the restaurant, I spotted Emmett as he moved just outside the lobby doors. Without noticing me, he made his way to the front of the building, so I followed him.

After his no-show today, the gym bag he held in one hand had me curious. I counted to twenty as he disappeared around the back of the hotel before I followed. I looked at all the parked cars, no sign of Emmett. I had lost him already; I wouldn’t make it as a spy.

Then, the noise of a gate closing at the end of the parking lot had me smiling, and I made my way to it. I once again counted to twenty before opening it. A wide expanse of cracked tarmac and run-down buildings sat in the carpark. Emmett was far enough away that I wasn’t able to make out his features, but I knew it was him. He entered one of the buildings through a side door with the gym bag still in hand.

Turn back now, I told myself as I walked to the building. I was facing the side. The door that Emmett had gone in through wouldn’t open, so I made my way to the front of the building. The closer I got, the better I could make out music, loud voices, and laughter. When I rounded the corner, two men took money from each person as they made their way into the building. I slipped into line beside what I could only describe as two hookers. Both looked at me from the corner of their eyes; one stopped chewing gum and then resumed as she faced away. I was next; the bouncer had his hand out for money. “How much?” I asked.

People behind me laughed, and the bouncer smiled. “You in the wrong place, sweetheart.” I wasn’t going to stand here like prey. I took out a fifty and placed it in his hand.

“No, I’m not.” I walked past, but he grabbed my arm roughly, his face and tone now serious.

“We don’t want any trouble,” he said, and I smiled, blinking my eyes innocently.

“What, from little old me?” He let me go, and I entered the building.